Hang Cool Teddy Bear
by Fire Bear1
Summary: A series of one-shots inspired by Meatloaf's awesome songs. Songs used so far: You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth; Bat Out of Hell; Two Out of Three Ain't Bad; Dead Ringer For Love; For Crying Out Loud; I'd Lie For You And That's the Truth; I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That); It Just Won't Quit.
1. I Was Just About to Say

_**Okay, so, this is going to be a collection of one-shots inspired by Meatloaf songs. (The title is from an album of his - I chose it because it has 'teddy bear' in the title. I may be a bit obsessed with them.)  
**_

_**Also, all of the one-shots will be different ratings but I'm putting it as M for later ones.**_

_**This story is a K+ and that's only because of the allusion to what they're doing at the end.**_

_**Go listen to You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth. (It's also called Hot Summer Night but ignore the bit with the wolf with the red roses at the start - there will be a separate story for that. ;) )**_

_**Warnings: So. Much. Fluff.**_

* * *

Alfred F. Jones had a problem with long-term relationships.

That's not to say that he didn't _want_ the long-term relationships. It was actually more that, despite everything he tried, people usually left him after around a month. In fact, it was now a given that his friends would stock up on a variety of ice cream around that time, 'just in case'.

The problem was that, each time Alfred began dating someone, he would think he was in love. Alfred had never been one to keep his feelings bottled up and he would usually blurt this notion out to his boyfriend or girlfriend. (He'd also said it to the pizza delivery guy once but that had been an accident: he had thought it was his girlfriend. Needless to say, that relationship had ended badly and Alfred couldn't bring himself to order anything from Domino's until he had moved.)

However, this time, Alfred had managed to hold himself back quite well. Which was quite a feat since he had been dating Arthur for six months and had almost blurted it on the first day he met him. It had definitely been love at first sight and he knew absolutely and completely that, this time, he wasn't wrong. He knew that he was in love.

But Arthur didn't, not yet.

After all, he had had to stop himself on that first day as he checked out a science fiction book from the library. His friend had suggested it, told him where he could find it, and Alfred had met the librarian. When he had gotten to the desk, Alfred had watched him smiling down at a small girl and helping her check out some books before she ran off to her mother. He had stepped forward to be served, in quite a daze, and their eyes had met. They had both blushed – something which still brought a smile to Alfred's face to this day – and Arthur had shyly asked if there was anything else he needed.

There is something to be said for an appropriate pick-up line and Alfred found himself with an awesome book, a cutely scribbled phone number and a date.

And he hadn't messed it up by saying "I love you!"

But, now, after six months of dating, Alfred knew Arthur was The One. And The One definitely deserved to know how he felt about him. Unfortunately, Alfred was, ironically, finding it difficult to get the words out. After all, he wanted the time he said it to be perfect, for Arthur to know he wasn't saying it as a passing fancy and that he meant it. However, every time he was going to say it, when the mood was perfect, Arthur would say something or do something so sweet and endearing or sexy and _amazing_ that he would lose track of things.

Or he would kiss him. Dear God, could Arthur kiss. It was actually how arguments were won in his favour as Alfred would agree to anything when he was in the Post-Kiss Haze.

So Alfred had come up with some essentials that he _needed_ to happen to be able to say it. Actually, it was only two things. First, he had to make sure to make the day leading up to the confession was as romantic as possible. He would do everything he could to make Arthur happy (and to make him blush because he looked cute and gorgeous like that) before he said anything. Secondly, he would not let Arthur kiss him properly for the whole day – chaste kisses and pecks were okay but anything more was a no go. He wouldn't get the words out, otherwise.

The plan was perfect and Alfred was sure it would go off without a hitch.

He hoped.

* * *

It went off without a hitch.

First thing in the morning, Alfred rose on Arthur's early alarm which was meant to wake Arthur so that, when it sounded the second time, it would actually make him get up. Between that and the second one, Arthur had an extra half an hour in bed. He needed it: Alfred had seen him being dragged from his bed on the first one because of a delivery. When he had returned, Alfred had tried to talk to him, ask him who had been at the door.

It was not pretty.

Making sure not to disturb his boyfriend, Alfred had crept downstairs and made him a fry-up. Arthur claimed to hate greasy foods but he loved a fry-up. Bacon, eggs, sausages, a burger for Alfred and toast. With a little difficulty, Alfred made some tea (and coffee for himself) and placed a fake rose into a vase. He would have gotten a real one but he was unsure how to keep it hidden and alive without Arthur noticing his vases going missing.

When he had returned to the bedroom, Arthur had been surprised but happy, though a little suspicious. It took him a few minutes to believe Alfred's story of how he wanted to treat Arthur for the whole day just because he wanted to. But Arthur accepted his request for him to get up and get ready when Alfred insisted they go for a walk around the park before lunch. There was a broad smile on Arthur's face which Alfred chose to take as a good sign.

The weather had, miraculously, cooperated. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, fluffy clouds made shapes in the bright sky. Children ran around, kites were flying, couples walked hand in hand. Arthur was smiling the whole time, leisurely taking in the scenery as they made their way around the lake in the middle of the park, discussing this and that.

Next up was the café that Arthur happened to love. After all, they served _afternoon tea. _And proper tea, too. He had been ecstatic to learn of the place and he shot Alfred an adoring look as they entered. Alfred ordered the special for both of them.

That had been around the time Alfred realised he had to be careful lest his plans be destroyed.

While they waited on their meal, they chatted some more. Alfred almost jolted in shock when he felt something on his leg. It rubbed soothingly against him, though, and Alfred realised that Arthur was getting frisky. Or he was trying to show his gratitude for being taken to the place. That meant that the kisses were coming, too. He would need to watch out.

Indeed, as soon as their lunch was over, Arthur gave him a quick peck. He knew that was because they were in public, though. If they had been at home, Alfred was in no doubt that they would have been back in bed by that point. However, Alfred was persistent and, instead of taking him home, took him to a museum. Then there was a romantic dinner in a smart restaurant where Alfred couldn't get a burger, followed by a movie of Arthur's choice. Alfred even bought his partner a rose from the women hanging around in the street. Arthur had admonished him for paying so much to get a single flower, but it was worth it to see the impressed look on Arthur's face.

Finally, Alfred had gotten them home and to the couch – all without any kissing. If Arthur was suspicious, he didn't say anything and didn't seem to mind. That was all Alfred could ask for. Now, though, it was time for the big moment, the pièce de résistance.

And Alfred was nervous.

* * *

"Well?" Alfred prompted. "Did I do good?"

Arthur smiled at him, a soft thing which made Alfred tingle and grow warm. "Yes, you did." Alfred was surprised he hadn't corrected him but breezed past this. It just showed how happy his boyfriend was and he resisted jumping for joy. His plan was working!

"Great! We should have days like this more often!"

"You actually want to walk through parks and museums?"

"If it's with you," Alfred instantly replied, grinning.

A blush spread across Arthur's cheeks as he glanced away. He looked so adorable that Alfred was tempted to kiss him – but he had to resist. This was his chance, his moment, and he would make good on it.

Taking a breath, Alfred opened his mouth. "Arthur," he said, looking at him lovingly. Arthur lifted his gaze to Alfred and the American's train of thought temporarily derailed. He was so beautiful and breathtaking. Trying to mentally shake himself and speak, Alfred opened his mouth again.

Suddenly, he had an armful of Arthur, lips pressed against Arthur's soft ones. Before he could protest or move, Arthur's tongue tangled around his and Alfred's brain stopped working. He kissed back, getting wrapped up in the tingling which spread through him from simple touches. His heart had been beating rather quickly but now it was pounding and he was quickly running out of oxygen.

Finally, Arthur pulled back, panting. Alfred stared at him, dazed. There was something he was supposed to say now, he knew, but what was it...? Blinking at Arthur, owlishly, he opened his mouth to try to say something, _anything_.

"I love you," breathed Arthur.

Alfred froze. "Huh?" he said, blinking once.

"I, um," said Arthur as his blush exploded across his face and ears. "You, um, are... I said that-that I love you. But, er, it may be a bit early for that. We've only been together six months." Alfred could clearly see Arthur was panicking as the man began shuffling away from him, his eyes darting around for an escape. "It's-It's way too early. If it's freaked you out, I'm sorry, but I've been wanting to say it for ages. Which... actually doesn't help and-"

"No." Alfred had somehow managed to find his voice though his eyes were still wide with shock.

"What?" asked Arthur, timidly.

"You're not allowed to say that!" Alfred whined.

"O-Oh..." Arthur looked away, most likely to hide tears. Knowing him well, Alfred grabbed his wrist so he couldn't leave. Arthur shook his arm, glaring at Alfred with shimmering eyes.

"I'm supposed to be the one to say it first!" exclaimed Alfred, frowning at him. "I planned this whole day and it was awesome and _I_ was the one who was supposed to say 'I love you'!"

Arthur's eyes widened. He blinked a few times, rapidly, before he fixed Alfred with a bewildered look. "Excuse me?"

They stared at each other for a few moments, both rather perplexed, each waiting for the other to move or confirm what they had said. Then, much like before, Alfred found himself with Arthur in his arms, kissing him. This time, it was shorter, more chaste. When Arthur pulled back, he frowned at him. Alfred grinned at him sheepishly, sensing that Arthur was perhaps a little upset about something.

"I told you... that. But you're not allowed to claim that you were going to say it all day."

"No, no," said Alfred, quickly. "I totally was! I swear on... my Captain America collection!"

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur said, "Huh. Well, if you're that serious..." A teasing smile spread across his face.

"Of course I'm serious! I've been in love with you from the day I met you!"

Both of them blushed at that.

"Really?" asked Arthur, shyly.

"Truly, madly, deeply," Alfred confirmed, nodding. "I love you. And you love me, so, well... I'm just glad this means you won't leave me. Or something..." Alfred squirmed and looked away.

"Why on Earth would I leave you?"

Alfred shrugged. "Because I didn't tell you first? Because I say stupid things at stupid moments? It took a lot of effort to stop myself from blurting it out when I saw you, y'know."

Smiling, Arthur shook his head and took Alfred's hands. "And it took me a lot of effort to force those words out my throat. I've been trying for a while. So it looks like we're stuck with each other, just like our words were stuck."

"Yeah." They grinned at each other, too happy for words. After a minute of sitting in a comfortable silence, Alfred said, "So, uh, was I romantic enough for you?"

"Definitely. Although, you're not quite finished."

"Oh?"

Arthur smirked. "You need to tell me that you love me again – in bed." He winked and stood, pulling Alfred with him. The American let him, following him to their room without protest, a large smile on his face.

* * *

_**There's not much to explain but the women hanging around outside has happened at places I've seen. Generally around nightclubs, though, and on Valentine's Day. You know, to exploit the drunken whims of people in need of roses for people they've just met. **_


	2. I'll Be Gone When Morning Comes

_**So, this one is based on Bat Out of Hell and started off simply until my mind seemed to combine it with other things I was thinking about at the time. And it is awesome.  
**_

_**Warnings: So. Much. Angst.**_

* * *

Arthur woke in a comfortable bed with a slim arm slung over his chest.

It seemed he didn't have a hangover and he had obviously not drunk as much as he had intended: he still remembered the argument. And he could easily recall meeting the young woman sleeping peacefully next to him. Mei, her name was, a pretty Asian girl who had fluttered her eyelashes and caught Arthur's attention.

At the moment, her hair was fanned out behind her as she slept on her side, her grip on Arthur loose enough for him to slip away. Which was exactly what he did, snake-like, landing on the floor in a crouch. He quickly replaced his torso with the pillow and she clutched it close. That was a shame – he would have liked to have seen her figure one more time but, alas, it was not to be. However, he did take a good look at her face: those pretty plump lips; those long eyelashes; her cute little nose.

With a nod, Arthur straightened and stretched, not caring that the curtains hadn't been closed (they had 'made love' in the moonlight). If anyone looked in and saw him, naked and unabashed, it would serve them right. Although he hoped there wouldn't be a ruckus – that would make it harder to get out unnoticed.

Quickly, Arthur began to collect his clothes. Dark green t-shirt, black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, his boots... Wait, where were his pants? He looked all around, ducking down to try to see under the furniture. Mei had slipped them off when they had finally gotten to the bed, he remembered. Glancing over, he could see Mei's little, cherry-blossom pink bra hanging from the post and figured that his pants were currently hiding amongst the duvet and sheets. It would not be a good idea to search for them.

Going commando it was.

He tugged on his jeans as he headed to the door. Anime characters and hot actors stared down at him from the walls. Arthur seemed to remember her mentioning something about how sexy his accent was and Mei seemed to like Brits since there was a wall dedicated to their productions. Shaking his head, he slipped from the room and only pulled on his boots when he was at the front door. He tried the door and cursed his luck. Locked. He looked around as he pulled on his t-shirt. The key was close by, luckily, dropped into a bowl on a table in the hall. After tugging on his jacket, he unlocked the door, slipped out, locked it again and shoved the keys back through the cat flap, making sure to throw them out of reach. He watched them slide along the wooden floor before standing and making his way to his car.

Actually, he had borrowed the car. It was a black Honda Accord and it sat in the driveway, ready to go. Arthur unlocked it and slipped in. Without even so much as a glance at the house, he started the car and pulled out.

* * *

Hoping that he could sneak into the room and flop onto his bed without anyone noticing, Arthur eased the door open slowly. There was no sound so he slipped inside and turned to shut it as gently as possible. Just as it clicked shut, a voice spoke behind him.

"Where have you been?"

Grimacing, Arthur sighed and turned to make his way further in to find a change of clothes. "Out," he replied, not looking 'round.

"Out _where_?"

"_Out_," Arthur stressed as he reached his bed. He unzipped his bag and began rooting around.

"_Artie_, stop it! I was worried. You don't have much time-"

"Alfred!" snapped Arthur, turning to finally look at him. He pretended not to notice how wide those blue eyes were or how Alfred was biting his lip in worry. "Stop. This is exactly why I left last night in the first place."

The American shifted in his place, his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble looking a bit faded. They hadn't bought new clothes for a while. Maybe they should spend some of their limited funds on that. After all, might as well have nice clothes before-

"Still, where were you?" asked Alfred, sitting down at the small, round table in the corner of the room. Arthur knew that was his way of silently saying that he wouldn't be moving until he confessed. "Where were you while I was busy worrying – and working?"

"Drinking," said Arthur, gruffly. He turned back to his bag and pulled out a shirt.

"Are you still drunk?"

Too busy inspecting the shirt to look up, Arthur said, "Of course not."

"Hangover?"

At that, Arthur found himself looking up. He hadn't meant to, he didn't want Alfred to know the truth. But he did and he found Alfred's worry morph into surprise, hurt and then settle into resignation. Arthur sighed and turned to pull a pair of plain, black trousers and underwear out of his bag.

"You were _with_ someone, weren't you?"

Arthur shot Alfred a look. "What did you expect? You knew what you were getting into." With that, Arthur retreated to the small bathroom to have a shower and get changed. He was under no illusion that the discussion was finished. Of course, while he let the water slide down his body, he would forget about his worries for a while, relax as much as possible before he went out to face the music.

* * *

"What was her name, then?"

Ah, so he wasn't even allowed to step into the room before the interrogation started... Arthur was still towelling his hair as he moved over to his bag, sparing the standing Alfred a glance before he stuffed the dirty clothes into it and looked away. "How do you know it was a girl?"

"It's mostly girls. The only times it was guys-" Alfred broke off, taking a deep breath.

"Mei," said Arthur, shrugging as he zipped his bag closed. His back was still to Alfred. Was he wearing that hurt expression again? He had been doing that a lot recently... Arthur pushed the thought aside and reached under his bed to pull out a second bag. This one was heavier and he grunted as he lifted it. Dropping it on his bed, he spoke again. "From Taiwan. Or Thailand. Somewhere beginning with 't', anyway. Came here for university and ended up a barmaid for a while. Now she's some sort of marriage counsellor. Is that enough detail for you?"

There was a silence as Arthur opened the bag in such a violent way he was surprised that it didn't rip. Inside was a variety of guns and ammo, a carton of salt, several lighters, a few large knives and a half-filled bottle of rum. He was tempted to take a sip but, with Alfred in the room, he knew it probably wouldn't reach his mouth.

Perhaps Alfred had seen the bottle from where he stood. Perhaps he had been rehearsing what he had to say to Arthur while he waited for him. Whatever the reason, Alfred spoke. "Arthur, this isn't healthy, what you're doing to yourself."

Snorting, Arthur glanced over his shoulder, noting the pleading look on Alfred's face. "And what do you know about healthy?"

"We're not talking about eating habits!" exclaimed Alfred as Arthur pulled out a gun before replacing it in the bag. "We're talking about the way you're-you're not caring about yourself! I mean, you're just going from one person to the other at a more frequent rate than- Than last year... And your drinking trips are happening every day."

"So?" demanded Arthur, leaving the bag alone and whirling to face Alfred. He didn't want to talk about this. The whole reason they were here was so he could distract himself. Why was Alfred so insistent on reminding him at every chance he could get? "I can do what I like. Can't I live as I want for a while?"

"No! That isn't living! That's accepting your fate!"

Arthur flinched. He had, after all. What could he do? There was no way to stop it and Alfred knew it. However, Arthur tried to deflect. "Look, this is what we argued about last-"

"And you walked out in the middle of it!" cried Alfred. He spun away from Arthur, paced for a few moments before turning back, the irritated look gone, replaced with exhaustion. Arthur tried not to flinch with guilt. "Artie, I don't want this. We need to stop it or reverse it or something."

After a pause, Arthur swallowed. "There is no stopping it, Al. There's nothing we can do. And there's no way in _hell_ I'm reversing it."

Alfred let out a bark of laughter at that. "Why not?"

"Because then you'd be dead!" Arthur shouted, his hands clenched at his sides.

"But I don't want _you_ to die either!"

"Al, you're young," Arthur tried to explain in a calmer manner. "It's not fair that you died like that and-"

"I would've been dead before that! You saved my life – twice, now – and I owe you. How am I supposed to do that if you're dead." Alfred stared at him sadly and Arthur could see the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

"Enough," said Arthur. He didn't want the boy to become upset because of him. Not again. "I don't want to talk about this any more when we're busy."

"But-"

"Where is it?"

"Ar-"

"The body, Alfred," said Arthur through gritted teeth. "Where is it?"

"We shouldn't be worrying about ghosts when you're going to Hell in three months!" snapped Alfred, glaring at Arthur now. They both froze, both of their eyes widening. Arthur had known he only had a year but where had the time gone? It seemed the cases were providing a suitable distraction. With a shaky breath, Arthur turned to his bag. Alfred tried to speak to him, probably trying to apologise. "Arthur, I-"

"Alfred. Where. Is. The. Body. Buried?" he demanded, sorting through guns he had sorted a million times. He pulled out a sawn-off shotgun and checked to see if he had _definitely_ put in the rock salt shells.

After a brief pause, the tension squeezing at Arthur's chest, Alfred told him. "Rosewood Cemetery."

"Rosewood?" asked Arthur, frowning as he turned to Alfred. "It doesn't happen to have real rosewood trees planted there, would it?"

"Uh... Hang on," said Alfred, sounding a little confused. But, after all their time together, Alfred knew to trust Arthur's instincts. He pulled out his laptop and sat at the table, opening it and booting up his Internet browser. Grumbling at how slow the crappy connection was, he was finally able to bring up a search and, after a few clicks, Alfred looked up at Arthur. "Yeah. They do. Why?"

"Look up the magical properties of rosewood, will you?"

"_Oh_," breathed Alfred, obviously remembering an earlier case. As Arthur finally deemed the shotgun ready and set it aside, Alfred looked up with wide eyes. "Get this! There's different properties for the different sorts of rosewood – and the East Indian sort is used to communicate with the dead!"

Arthur frowned. "Well, it'd explain why there are so many different deaths. It would be different ghosts returning to kill them; all those people buried there with a chance to come back... But I doubt East Indian rosewood has been planted _here_ of all places."

"No, Artie, it _is_."

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur, drawing closer and sitting at the table.

"The cemetery was created by the owner of the land, a Mr. Mannan. He imported rosewood trees from his home country – and he came from _East India_." Alfred grinned at Arthur.

"Damn..." Arthur muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. Before Alfred could ask what was wrong, he added, "Look and see if there's a way to reverse spells that used rosewood."

"What? Why?"

"Because, if it was just the presence of the trees, there would have been constant ghostly deaths around here. But it's just started up recently." Arthur tapped a finger on the metal surface of the dull table. "So we're going to need to reverse the spell – we can't salt and burn all the bodies in there."

"Oh, right," said Alfred. He went back to clicking and tapping at the computer. The silence which settled over them was heavy with all that went unsaid but Arthur tried to ignore the tension. Finally, Alfred looked up from his laptop. "Well, there are different ways to remove different spells but we need to find out what was cast and on what and where and everything."

"Then it looks like we've got some investigating to do, Agent Bennet."

"Man!" Alfred whined, complaining again. "Why do I have to be the girl?"

Arthur merely smirked at him. Standing, he made his way to the wardrobe where he had hung up their suit jackets. He pulled on his home-made holster and then slipped his jacket on, went back to his bags, found some socks, pulled them on and then slipped his feet into a pair of smart, black shoes. When he was completely ready, he stuck his Browning into the holster and a small knife into the other side. Turning, he found Alfred staring at him.

"Well?" he said, catching Alfred's attention. The American blinked up at him: it looked as though he had pulled him from a reverie. "Come _on_." Alfred nodded and stood to make his way over to the wardrobe, too. He began to get ready as Arthur threw a Beretta and a similar knife onto Alfred's bed. "We'll go to the cemetery first, see if there's-"

"I know you've given up," said Alfred, suddenly, stopping Arthur in his tracks. "But I haven't. And I was talking to some hunters we've got numbers for and they seem to have heard that a couple of guys have gotten out of a deal before."

Trying to keep his temper, Arthur took a deep breath. "Did they now?"

"Yeah, some guys called Winchesters."

Blinking, Arthur stared at Alfred who still hadn't pulled on his suit. "The Winchesters?"

"You know them?" asked Alfred, eagerly.

"No, I've just heard of them. Good _and_ bad."

"Bad?"

"Yes, now, let's go." He strode to the door and opened it.

"Wait! Aren't you interested? Shouldn't we-?"

"Alfred!" cried Arthur, turning back, eyes flashing. "Stop it! Why do you keep going on?! There's _nothing_ we can do! Now get in your damn car."

He turned and, just as he stepped out of their motel room, heard Alfred mumble something. Instead of asking what he had said, Arthur let the door swing closed behind him, making his way to the car. After all, he had a feeling he knew what Alfred's mutterings were. Before all of this, before Alfred had gone and gotten himself killed, Arthur had heard him say something into his ear, something he wasn't meant to hear. As he had tried to get some sleep between cases, Arthur had clearly heard him say those words, though, Alfred thinking he was out for the count. They meant too much and he had tried to forget them.

"_I love you_."

It was too painful to think about and Arthur pretended that he didn't know about Alfred's feelings. After all, it was easier for both of them. If either of them could die at any time, they wouldn't have to mourn.

That was what he had told himself – and then he had sold his soul to bring Alfred back to life.

Sighing, Arthur ran his hand through his hair, leaning against the car to wait for the younger man. He hadn't wanted to cause Alfred distress and, if Yao hadn't told him, he would have been blissfully unaware of Arthur's impending doom. Now, he seemed to be obsessed with saving Arthur – but Arthur didn't want to be saved if it cost Alfred his life.

He was startled from his reverie as Alfred emerged, looking dapper as usual in his navy suit. Before their eyes could meet, before Arthur could see the disappointment, he turned and unlocked the car, slipping into the driver's seat. Alfred paused for a moment before walking around the car and getting into the passenger seat. Without a word, Arthur started the car and one of the song's on Alfred's iPod started to play. It just so happened to be Highway to Hell by AC/DC. They glanced at each other and Alfred was quick to skip to the next song as Arthur pulled out of the car park, the heavy atmosphere weighing them down.

* * *

_**FYI, I have a whole story behind the two of them being together. Not so much how Alfred died, though I'm leaning towards him doing a stupid mistake on a case and getting killed. And someone gave Artie a year because, frankly, they thought it would be amusing to see them flapping around like the Winchesters - only there will be no happy ending for them. Well, possibly.  
**_

_**But I would love to write the stuff leading up to it and what happens after it. And maybe this case. (I have no idea how they'll solve it.)**_

_**Yao is totally kinda like Bobby for these two - and the other hunters Al was talking to. ;)**_

_**East Indian rosewood totally does have the ability to communicate with the dead. Or so said some pagan site I found myself on. Rosewood Cemetery is something I made up and I have no idea where in America they are. But they are definitely in America. Because they're in a motel.**_

_**I decided to give a name to the handguns they're using and found a list of pistols (on Wikipedia) and decided to go with a Browning for Arthur and handed the Beretta to Alfred. I would have given Arthur a gun made in the UK but... they're all real old looking. The ones on that list, anyway. So he was going to have the Beretta but I was sure I'd heard/read about the Browning being used by England in a fan fic and/or in a documentary? So I gave him that and got lazy and used the Beretta for Alfred.**_

_**They have holsters because, frankly, I'm surprised no-one notices when Dean shoves the guns down the back of his trousers.**_

_**Highway to Hell at the end there because I couldn't use Bat Out of Hell - that suggests that Arthur will break out of Hell. Which, if he **_**does _end up in Hell, he won't be able to do. Artie and Al don't have angels looking out for them. _  
**

**_(Also, not sure when to set this in the Supernatural universe but definitely after season 4. Not seen season 10, yet.)_**


	3. There Ain't No Way

_**Inspired by Two Out of Three Ain't Bad.  
**_

_**There are more characters featured in this one and it's set in the sort of canonverse. (I mean, obviously it's not wholly canon but I suspect you all know what I mean.)**_

_**Warnings: Angst! And if you've listened to the song, you know why.**_

* * *

It had started at some point in the late Forties. Or was it the early Fifties? America couldn't remember the exact date and hadn't bother to try. England probably knew.

They hadn't intended to start it. But what else were they to do when America walked in on England masturbating and got terribly turned on. They had gone at it in the bathroom which England had forgotten to lock. Then they had taken it to the bedroom. America had been visiting England and they both had a couple of days off so America managed to finagle England into doing it on the couch and the kitchen table, too.

_"This is only a one time thing, America."_

Yet, when they met up in France for some sort of meeting (America couldn't remember what it was about – he hadn't been paying all that much attention to the fancy speeches), they found themselves in a cupboard, stifling their moans by leaving hickeys. No-one else seemed to have noticed what they had done in the (far too) short break. But, as they sat in their seats, America had caught England's eye and the elder gave a nod.

A confirmation that, yes, they could look to each other when they needed release.

Afterwards, they had sex when stress was getting them, when something good had happened or if they just happened to be in the area and were bored. To begin with, England had insisted that they only do it when they were in their homes (though he hadn't minded that one time at France's party). Then England began to come to America's hotel room in the middle of the night. He said it was to talk but they usually ended up bickering until America shut him up with a well-placed kiss. Then he would lower England to the soft mattress and whatever he had come to say got lost in the passion.

As far as America was concerned, he and England were in an allies with benefits relationship. They got on well enough but America didn't think of it as love or even thought of England as his exclusive partner. (Though, he hadn't been with anyone else since England because everyone else he had flirted with turned him down.)

Every so often, though, he did find his heart beating a little faster when England spoke to him suddenly. Or he would find himself cuddling England when they were watching a movie. America didn't think that England could ever love him and he pushed these minor observations aside. He couldn't love England and he decided he never would.

Which was why it was such a surprise when England turned to him after having amazing sex one night and told America that he loved him.

* * *

There was a silence after his confession for a few minutes. Then America barked out a loud laugh, rolling away from England to hold his stomach and try to stifle it. When he had calmed down enough, taking calming breaths, he rolled back to find England propped up on his arms. He looked like he was about to bolt, his eyes wide as a deer faced with its predator.

"Oh," said America, his grin slipping away. "You were serious?"

"Of course I was serious!" snapped England, sitting up properly and glaring down at America.

"But... why? Apart from... this" - America gestured between them and the bed - "all you do is nag me. And all _we_ do is argue."

"That's-!" England paused. "I know we don't always get along but we've been better recently. Haven't we? Watching films and going to tourist attractions and all that rot."

"Yeah, but that was just us being civil for our bosses, right?"

Exasperated, England shook his head. "What did you _think_ I was doing with you?" His eyes widened again with realisation. "Did you think we were 'friends with benefits'?!"

"Well..."

"Oh, my God," breathed England, looking aghast. "I can't believe- All this time... This is unbelievable. I should have known."

"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad." America sighed, sitting up.

"Yes it is!" cried England. "I want us to be more-! More than friends..."

"Like... boyfriends?" asked America, grimacing. The older nation was his friend and ally and if they became more there would be a chance for complications. Look at the Revolution and the mess it had left England in. He didn't want to deal with Canada berating him or France being smug.

"Lovers, partners – whatever you want to call it. Don't you want that?"

America shrugged. "I dunno. I thought what we had was fine."

Shaking his head, England began to shift away from America, obviously intent on getting away from the other. "It's _not_ fine. You obviously don't like me-" He broke off and stopped, turning to America with his eyebrows pinched together, such was the force of his frown. "How _do_ you feel about me?"

He hesitated for a moment and, apparently, that was enough of an answer for England who swung his legs off the bed. America grabbed his wrist to stop him, however, and England turned to look at him, his scowl doing nothing to hide his hurt. "Listen," said America, looking him right in the eyes. "I _want_ you to do things like this with me. But I _need_ you to be my ally." He shrugged. "But there's just no way I can love you, England."

England's eyes widened and he stared down at America for a long moment. Then he yanked his arm from America's grasp. Standing, he began to search for something, probably his clothes. "I see," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Electing to ignore the tone, America asked, "What are you doing?"

"I've got some paperwork to finish up. I was going to have to go back to my hotel room, anyway." He pulled on his boxers, pulled on his shirt but didn't button it up and grabbed his trousers and shoes. "If you find the rest of my clothes, send them to me." And, without looking at America, he walked out of the door, letting it swing shut behind him with a click.

Sighing, America ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should have just said he loved England to please him but even he didn't know how he felt sometimes. Most of the time, he would say he didn't but at others...

Well, he would apologise tomorrow before letting England pull him up to his hotel room and letting him top to appease him. Hopefully, that would fix things.

* * *

All he could do was watch England from a distance. Whenever America got close enough to greet him, England excused himself from his conversation and hurried off. The other nations were given odd looks. In fact, Prussia, Denmark and France had all given him rather dirty looks when he had walked in.

He watched the grumpy Englishman laughing at Spain's antics. He watched him talking seriously to Romano and looking a little upset – and then Romano patted him on the shoulder! Wasn't Romano scared of him? He watched Japan invite him to have some of the Asian's lunch – and England accepted without a thought to America.

It infuriated America. How was he supposed to put this right if he couldn't even talk to the guy?! Maybe he should invite himself to Japan's little lunch party. Something drenched his hand and he glanced down to find that he had burst a pen. With nothing on hand to clean it – _England would have given me his handkerchief if he was sitting next to me right now_ – he flipped a page of his documents and slapped his hand to it, hoping that would help.

"What have you done?" asked a voice with a snippy tone. Excited, America looked up only to deflate when he realised it was Canada.

"Oh, hey, what's up? I burst a pen." America knew that wasn't what Canada meant, of course, since the nation looked rather irritated.

"What did you do to England?" Canada demanded as Kumajiro appeared beside him and settled down to watch the proceedings.

"Nothing! We had sex, it was awesome, and now he's in a mood."

Canada raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? France said you had an argument."

"How does _he_ know?" America asked, quickly. He felt a little hurt that England had aired their dirty laundry, so to speak. And he felt enraged that everyone else was speaking to him. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever felt like this before and it was a little worrying...

"After your... spat," said Canada, watching America carefully, "England went to France's room. France isn't telling anyone what he said or did but Prussia and Denmark ended up drinking with him, too. The three of them know the details but they're keeping mum. And I think Norway and Romania know, too. So. What did you _do_?"

"I didn't do anything!" cried America, drawing the attention of nearby nations. "All that happened was that we- He said... _y'know_."

"No. I don't. Explain better, America." Canada looked as though he was getting more annoyed so America decided just to get the worst over with.

"He told me he loves me."

"Oh, no," groaned Canada, as though he could see where this was going. "And what did you say in return?"

"Um, well," America hesitated.

"You rejected him."

"I did not! All I said was that I didn't love him. But I never rejected him!"

"Oh, America," sighed Canada. "That was almost the same thing – in fact, I would place bets on England thinking it was your way of rejecting him."

"Tsk," said America, picking up another pen and fiddling with it in both hands. "I didn't. I just don't think of him like that. Sure the sex is great" - he ignored Canada's lip curling in disgust - "and he's a good friend but I don't want him to be more than that. Why can't we keep things the way they were?"

"Because England saw the two of you as being more than that, I suspect," said Canada. "Anyway, I'm going to get some pancakes. Do you want to come with me so that I can help you fix this? _If_ you can."

But America had stopped listening, staring across the meeting table. Japan had just dropped a piece of his lunch and it had rolled to England's side of the table. As Japan apologised, England expertly picked it up with his chopsticks – _Honestly, America, England had said, you're completely useless with them, aren't you. Allow me_ – and held it out to the other nation. At first, it looked as though Japan was going to refuse. Then he hesitantly opened his mouth and England fed the morsel to him.

"America!" cried Canada as America felt something else douse his hand. Glancing down, he saw that he had snapped the pen in two. He looked around at his neighbour, his face pale. Canada was staring at him with wide eyes, ink splattered on his face and glasses.

Dropping the pieces, America looked down again and mumbled, "Ah, um, sorry."

"You're jealous." The words made America's head jolt up, his eyes large behind his own spectacles. Before he could protest, Canada sighed. "You're in love with England but you were too laid-back to notice until it was too late."

"D-Don't say tha- I am not!"

Canada gave him a look that England _must_ have taught him and sighed a sigh that England surely taught him, too. His chest ached, suddenly, and he resisted placing his hand on his out of control heart.

"Tell him," said Canada, looking over at the nation they were discussing. "Before it's too late," he added, prompting America to look over.

England was smiling at Japan – a smile America thought he had been the only one to see.

* * *

For the rest of the day, America had to endure watching England interact with other nations. He seemed to flirt with everyone but America. It was painful to watch but America couldn't keep his eyes off him. When the meeting was over, America jumped to his feet, intent on dragging England to a restaurant and maybe apologising or something. However, as he reached the man, he overheard his conversation with Japan.

"-heard of a lovely restaurant nearby from Italy. He says it's brilliant – but, then, he says that about any restaurant serving pasta. I was wondering if you would like to accompany me, regardless?"

America froze. When was the last time England had asked someone to dinner with just him, someone that wasn't America? Actually, America couldn't remember him ever willingly having dinner with a fellow nation on his own. The only romantic dinners he had had were with America – and even then, they weren't the most romantic of locations.

What did this mean?

"Of course. I would be delighted to," Japan replied with a small smile. It faded when he looked past England and spotted America. Panicking, America turned and darted away before England could turn to see him.

Without looking at anyone, he ran from the room and down the halls until he found himself in the streets of Venice. He didn't really know what he was going to do with himself. Go back to his hotel? Find something to take his mind off things? Follow England and see what he was doing?

In the end, he decided he'd go find a McDonald's and wandered off.

* * *

A few hours later, America found himself outside England's hotel room. He had eaten and then moped in his room. When exactly had he fallen so hard for the grumpy Brit? How could he not have noticed? Calling Canada, he was told that there were two explanations: he really _was_ as oblivious as he was believed to be or he had wilfully ignored his feelings for years. They both suspected it might have been the latter. The ensuing lecture had taken up an hour of his time, though he had only half-listened to most of it.

When he had finally gotten the chance to hang up on Canada, he had hurried along the hall. It was obvious that he was going to have to apologise and admit that he wanted to be more than allies with benefits. He wasn't sure he could tell England how he felt about him until he had figured it out completely.

With a deep breath, America knocked on the door. He held his breath and waited, listening in the relative stillness of the hotel. Beyond the barrier, he heard someone moving closer and it wasn't long before the door was opened to reveal England. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie and looked significantly more attractive in his ruffled state. His cheeks were slightly flushed and Alfred figured he was a little tipsy. He definitely wasn't drunk, though, because he scowled when he saw who it was instead of throwing himself into America's arms.

"What do you want, America?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

"Hey," said America, quieter than usual. "I wanted to say sorry." England snorted in obvious disbelief. "I'm serious!" America protested.

"No, you're not. You're just saying that because Canada told you to. The boy's looking out for me, as usual, but I don't need it. I had a conversation with France last night and I'm absolutely fine now."

America frowned. "I'm not. Canada didn't tell me to do anything. I just wanna say sorry. I shouldn't've laughed – I was just shocked, y'know?"

Eyes narrowed, England stepped forward and into America's space. "Do you really think that's the only thing I'm angry about?" he hissed.

"No!" cried America. "I-I know I said that I couldn't lo-"

"Enough," said England, stepping away again. His red cheeks were getting darker. "I don't want to hear it again." He moved backwards and reached for the door, obviously going to shut it. But America was quick and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from doing so.

"Wait! I..." He paused. Should he say it? The furious look in England's eye decided for him. "I love you!"

There was a tense silence, England standing rigid. Finally, he took a steadying breath and, in a low voice, said, "Are you _mocking_ me?"

Sensing imminent doom, America quickly said, "No! No, no. I just... I realised earlier today. I mean, you always call me an idiot." He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Looks like you were kinda right." England raised an eyebrow, as if urging him to continue. So America did. "I love you. And I want you and I need you so... will you let me in?"

For a full minute, they stared into each other's eyes. England's were filled with anger and hurt and love; America tried not to flinch away, his own trying to convey his remorse and regret and hope – and, of course, his newfound love. The older nation swallowed suddenly, glanced away and then stepped backwards. America felt his heart drop.

Shaking his head, England retreated further and said, "No, I'm sorry. I can't, America. I love you and I want you but..." England sighed. "A lot of the other nations have said that our relationship was harmful. And I don't need to be with you when I'm not sure whether you feel the same about me as I do about you. I don't _need_ that sort of relationship."

"But-"

"America, it's over," sighed England and, with a sad expression, he shut the door in America's face.

* * *

_**This could be the summary: They're both idiots and jerks to each other.  
**_

_**But, I mean, how else would I get it to fit in with what the song's about? **_

_**I suppose I could have given it a happier ending but I like this better. Their relationship was flawed and has always been flawed and everything sucks. So.**_

_**I have no idea why I had Canada talk to America instead of France but he suddenly popped up so in he went.**_

_**England may or may not have been flirting with the other nations. I like to think that America's never really noticed England and Japan's friendship because they're 'allies with benefits' and he didn't nosy too much into England's life. Or something. And, you know, the rest were being talked to for a wider view of the situation. Or maybe he was flirting with them to get back at America. We'll never know. **_


	4. Dead Ringer

_**Based on Dead Ringer For Love this time.  
**_

_**Warnings: This has art pieces discussed in it - I am not a fan of art and I am hopeless at critiquing art or... anything. So it's probably highly unlikely any of this happened. But I took liberties and I stand by those liberties.**_

* * *

"My _good friend_, Matthieu, is over there right now," said Francis with a put-upon sigh. "He would be much better company."

Arthur blinked and raised his gaze from his menu. They were seated outside a cosy café, the sun shining down on the metal tables and chairs, both of them wearing suits having just come from work. His lunchtime _companion_ – never friend, or so they both claimed – was staring across the street, chin in his hand in a contemplative manner, and Arthur followed his gaze. A huge, sandstone building stood opposite them, a large sign proclaiming it to be the art gallery. There were two large banners announcing what the current exhibit was but Arthur didn't read them, turning his attention back to his menu.

"Then why didn't you ask 'Matthieu' to lunch? Or even Kiku?" he asked as he scanned the sandwiches again. Did he want any? Or did he fancy the soup...?

"I could not. It is his cousin who has made the exhibit and he has gone to support him," explained Francis. He sighed again.

Shooting his companion a glare, Arthur said, "Why didn't you get a quick bite to eat and then go into the gallery yourself? Why did you have to drag me out here?"

"_Because_, mon ami, your secretary is worried that you have been working too much." Francis finally turned to look at Arthur, his blue eyes stern. "She says that you have not had lunch the past few days."

"Well, of course I haven't! Unlike _some people_" - he narrowed his eyes further - "I have deadlines to meet and-"

"-you will not meet them if you pass out from hunger, mon cher." Francis looked worried. "You are working yourself too hard. Did you do this at school and college, aussi?"

"My past has nothing to do with my present."

"Au contraire," said Francis, waving his hand in a flamboyant and dismissive gesture. "Your past is what makes you the person you are today – a grumpy, volatile, annoying Rosbif."

"Honestly, _Frog_, why did I even bother coming?" grumbled Arthur.

"You are hungry."

At that, Arthur sighed. "Fine. Let's catch the waitress. Do they even come out here? Or do we nee-"

"_Oh, my god!_" squealed a girl's voice from just next to them. Jumping, Arthur looked around to find a pretty redhead staring at him, tugging on the elbow of a dark-haired man. His eyebrows had shot up when Arthur turned and his jaw dropped. For a moment, all four of them were still, wondering who would act next. Then Arthur blinked and the young woman seemed to take that as her cue. "Doesn't he look just like _him_?!"

"Woah..." said the man, fiddling with the sunglasses on the top of his head. "He sure is a dead ringer."

Arthur wondered if they were really staring at him and tried to surreptitiously look over his shoulder. When he saw no-one immediately behind him, he turned back. "Um...?"

"Oh, my _gosh_! Do you think he _knows_?!"

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," said Francis, seeming to finally shake himself from the shock of the high-pitched squealing. Unfortunately, his accent only seemed to make the girl squeal louder.

"He's _French_! Ain't that so cool, Darren?!"

"Uh, yeah," said the man, frowning now.

Before either of them could say anything else, Francis jumped in. "I was wondering what you meant by my... acquaintance looking like someone?"

"Oh, _yeah_! He totally looks like the person the exhibit is based on."

"What?!" said Arthur, growing more confused by the second.

"'Love', is what it's called," said Darren as his companion practically vibrated in excitement. "It's basically the artist's various renderings of this guy he's in love with. I'd say it's unrequited, though." At that, both he and the girl frowned.

"Are you in love with _this_ guy?" demanded the girl. "Because you could do way better – the artist obviously loves you so much more than _him_." She gave Francis a dirty look.

Arthur had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Francis, meanwhile, was affronted. "Non! We are not together! I would never take him as a lover! This man is insufferable, has a horrible fashion sense and does not know love when it is pushed in front of his face!"

"Hmm..." The girl obviously didn't quite believe it. "Well, you should totally go see for yourself." With that, she dragged Darren off, who managed to give them a wave.

There were a few moments of silence. "What the hell was that?" Arthur demanded, still rather bemused.

Francis nodded across the road. When Arthur looked over this time, he read the banners and saw that the exhibit was, in fact, called 'Love'. "There's only one way to find out," said the Frenchman.

* * *

They both gaped at the large room they had entered. There were paintings and sculptures and murals. All of them seemed to have green and yellow in some capacity. However, worst of all (at least, in Arthur's opinion) was the fact that they seemed to have large black splodges at the top of each work.

"It has your eyebrows," Francis commented, once he had gotten over his shock. He was looking at an abstract painting which were just a lot of colours in a swirling pattern. Green, yellow and red were prominent. At the top of it, however, painted on top, were two black splodges at an angle.

"I can see that," snapped Arthur, glowering at him. Then he realised his eyebrows were mimicking the ones in the painting and tried to change his expression. It didn't work, though, and he was still scowling as an amused Frenchman sniggered. Growling at him, Arthur stomped off.

Stopping in front of a tall statue, Arthur looked up at it. He winced. There was nothing abstract or vague about _this_ one. That was definitely his face there, relaxed and happy. A rare smile was on its lips, the eyebrows not pointed downwards like the other pieces. The head sat on a slim neck atop a body which was much more muscular than Arthur actually was. Thankfully, whoever had made it had decided that it shouldn't be naked and it was wearing a toga instead. For some reason, it was holding a shield held in front of it. The sword in its other hand was twisted behind it, pointing at the hallway to the other room. Arthur wondered what it could mean.

He wondered what _all_ of it meant.

Surely if he knew someone who was this infatuated with him, he would know? Surely they would have told them? He should be able to tell who the artist was with one glance! The whole place made him feel uncomfortable: it felt rather like being inside his very soul.

And it definitely didn't help that there were people staring at him, whispering to their companions.

"Arthur!" cried Francis, suddenly appearing at the doorway. "You need to see this!"

Shaking his head, Arthur moved closer so that he needn't shout. "I don't think I want to. I'd rather just leave and get something to eat."

Francis frowned at him for a moment. Then comprehension dawned and he shook his head. "I do not know why you are so frightened – this man obviously loves you dearly."

"I'm not frightened!" Arthur protested. "This is just unsettling. What would you do if- Actually, no, I don't want to know." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Fine. Let's see what you've found and then we can go _eat_. I'm sure my stomach is devouring itself."

"And whose fault is that, chéri? This way." Francis moved along the hallway and stepped into a second room. It was much busier than the first room and Arthur was confused as to why: there was less in here and only seemed to display a series of paintings. His friend dragged him to the first one and he found himself staring at an adorable forest scene, complete with bunnies and deer.

"This is why you dragged me through here?" Arthur demanded. What did this have to do with the first room? What did it have to do with _him_?

"Look," said Francis and pointed to a little card pinned underneath it. Arthur leant closer and read the title. _When He's Peaceful_. There was no artist's name which infuriated him.

"And? This-"

"Now this one," Francis interrupted, dragging him to the next one and positioning him so that he could see it. This one depicted a ship being tossed about on a storm. When Arthur noticed that there were people on board, he squinted to make out the details. Yes, he was right – there _was_ a blonde man with a fancy pirate hat. Beneath it, the card said it was called _When He's Raging_. Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He turned to Francis who gestured to the rest of the room. Quickly, Arthur stepped to the next one and read the title card. _When He's Nursing_. Alarmed, Arthur looked up and saw a smiling man sitting up in bed, his eyes closed. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him but he was sitting in his pyjamas and there was a bowl of soup on a tray. There were also flowers, balloons, a teddy bear, Get Well Soon cards and a bowl of fruit. Arthur tilted his head: he didn't understand this one.

"You _do_ go a bit overboard," said Francis's voice in his ear. He jerked away a little so he could turn to look at his companion. "When you are nursing someone back to health, you worry too much. The last time I was ill, you were sick the next day because you rushed around after me."

"W-Well, who else was going to look after you?" demanded Arthur, a soft blush on his cheeks.

"Mm. Anyway, have you figured out what this room is?"

"No," said Arthur, glancing around at the crowd which obscured the other paintings. "I'll need to see the rest."

"Let me tell you, then. This room represents all the different sides of _you_, chéri." Francis grinned at him. "So it must be someone you know very well."

"But I don't know any artists!" exclaimed Arthur, drawing attention. Tutting, he grabbed Francis and dragged him to a quieter corner. "The only people I know that had anything to do with art were in high school. And I don't talk to any of them!"

"Perhaps you had a secret admirer. I shall ask Matthieu." He turned to leave.

"Wait, what? Now?! No!" Arthur grabbed Francis's arm to stop him leaving. "Don't leave me here alone," he hissed, glancing at a nearby couple who were staring at him.

"How else-?"

"Francis? Is that you?" They both turned in the direction of the voice, Francis giving an exclamation of delight: Arthur could only suppose this was the famed 'Matthieu'. He had blonde hair which was a little shorter than Francis's and had an errant curl sticking out of the fringe. His eyes were hidden by glasses but they appeared to be an odd shade of blue. He was smiling down at Francis in surprise and delight.

"Mon ami! Comment vas-tu?"

"Ça va," replied Matthieu. He glanced at Arthur who was hovering beside them and his eyes widened. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

"Good afternoon," said Arthur, crisply, glaring at the man. He didn't appreciate all this gawking. "I'm Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleas-"

"Oh, my God!" cried Matthieu. "You're-!" He spun around, appearing to look for something before turning right back again. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm Matthew Williams. It's nice to meet you, too, but-" Once again, he spun around but, this time, he continued facing away from them and stood on the tips of his toes to see over the heads of the crowd.

"Er, excuse me, Matthew," said Arthur, trying to regain his attention. "I was wondering what the hell is actually going on?"

"I don't think he'd want you to see it," said Matthew, turning slightly so he could look Arthur in the eye. "And I think he should be the one to explain."

"He?" asked Arthur. "Who?"

"There he is!" Matthew began to wave frantically and, after a while, whoever he was talking about must have seen him for Matthew lowered himself to stand properly, dropping his arm. He turned back to Arthur. "I think you're in for a big shock," he told him, a little apologetically.

Before Arthur could answer, a voice boomed out across the crowd. It was loud and obnoxious and horribly _familiar_. "Matt! dude! Whatcha wanting? Something wrong? This guy ain't bothering you, is he? Mattie totally has a kick-ass boyfriend, you know."

The voice sounded a lot like... But it couldn't be. Could it? And he knew Matthew? He couldn't be the cousin... _He_ never mentioned Matthew!

"I assure you," Francis said, smiling a little as he glanced between Matthew and the man who had arrived, the man Arthur was blocked from seeing. Matthew was in the way and Arthur had a feeling he was doing it deliberately. "I am not flirting. I am just a friend. You must be the famous cousin."

"Yup! That's me!" said the voice, obviously with a grin. "Alfred F. Jones, pleasure to meet you."

Arthur stopped breathing. It _was_ him. He remembered him from before college, when he was still living with his parents. His final year in high school had been in an American school and his next door neighbour was still in middle school or junior high or whatever Americans called them. As he graduated, Alfred had started at high school and he had lost contact, especially after his parents moved. He remembered babysitting for Alfred's parents, being paid a few dollars despite his insistence that he didn't need it. He remembered Alfred's chubby-faced grins and his braces and the time he'd insisted on eating something Arthur had cooked (badly) and their trip to the hospital with food poisoning. And he remembered how he gave Arthur a drawing each day, sometimes more if Arthur seemed down. The stack he had acquired had been lost but he hadn't considered that Alfred would become an artist.

And he certainly never thought that he would grow up to make an exhibit about _Arthur_, of all people.

"There's someone here who's _very_ interested in your work," said Matthew. And he suddenly stepped out of the way. Arthur's wide eyes met the grinning Alfred.

The child Arthur had known had disappeared. Instead, Alfred stood tall, thin but muscled. His hair was still as unruly as ever, that cowlick stuck in its usual position. Instead of the thick frames of his earlier glasses, he now had more stylish, thinner ones. White, straight teeth were visible as he smiled. The only thing which spoiled the image of the grown man was the Superman t-shirt he was wearing.

As Arthur stared, the grin slipped from Alfred's face and his jaw dropped. His cheeks turned red and he made and odd noise in the back of his throat. Finally, he snapped his mouth closed, swallowed and said, "A-Arthur? What... What are you doing here?"

"Um. I..." Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His stomach rumbled and he latched onto that as something he could focus his ire on; his eyes flew open with a glare. "I _was_ trying to get something to eat because, _apparently_" - he swung his glare to Francis for a second - "I am 'not taking care of myself properly', when a couple passed by and remarked on how much of a lookalike for 'Love' I am. So, of course, I was dragged over here to find out what they meant." His glare softened as he glanced around. "I... didn't expect this. Or you."

Alfred chuckled weakly and it occurred to Arthur that he wasn't using his usual, boisterous laugh. He hadn't realised he'd missed it. "Well, er... I didn't expect you either. I didn't think I'd ever see you again, what with your parents moving an' all. But... it's good to see you. What're you up to, nowadays?"

"You-! Don't you _dare_ ask me how I'm doing! Don't swing the conversation away from yourself!" snapped Arthur. He swung his arm out, nearly hitting Francis who backed off. "What the hell is this?" Alfred flinched and Arthur deflated, remembering what the man had said about 'unrequited love'. "Are _you_ all right? Because... Well, this looks like you're... pining." Arthur blushed and ducked his head; that made him sound rather full of himself which was certainly not his intention.

"Artie." He looked back up to find Alfred smiling at him – a little, fond smile, one Arthur had never seen on his face before. "Artie, I'm fine. Honestly. Especially since you're here now. I- Well, you see..." Alfred took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment before opening them and looking Arthur dead in the eye. "I loved you, back then. But you were older and seemed so much cooler so I never said anything. When you left, I couldn't quite get over it. It wasn't as if I never had a girlfriend or anything – it was more that... I couldn't help thinking... Would you have said yes? If I'd asked you out, I mean."

Uncomfortable discussing this rather publicly, Arthur shifted a little. After all, it wasn't every day you were the recipient of a love confession several years late. Finally, he built up the courage to respond. "Not back then," he admitted. "You were barely even a teenager – it would have been weird."

"And now?" asked Alfred, looking a little hopeful.

Arthur bit his lip. Should he? On the one hand, he barely knew Alfred now. On the other... There were two rooms here as testament to how much Alfred loved him and had c_ontinued_ to love him, despite Arthur's cranky personality, despite not being in contact.

Before he could make his decision, however, his stomach grumbled rather loudly. He froze, eyes wide, as Alfred blinked in surprise. When he opened his mouth to apologise, an arm landed around his shoulders. "It sounds as though you need to eat, mon ami," said Francis. "Perhaps Alfred could take you back to that café while I look around the rest of the exhibit. Come, Matthieu. Explain this painting to me."

Alone, Arthur and Alfred stared at each other before hastily looking away. Arthur knew he was blushing and scowled when he noticed a couple of girls excitedly whispering to each other. "I _would_ like to get out of here," he admitted. "And I _am _hungry. Besides..." He forced himself to look Alfred in the eye. "It would be good to catch up, right?"

With his usual, large grin, Alfred nodded. "Sure. Let's get you fed. Have you been skipping meals while you work again?"

They walked off, side by side, Arthur rolling his eyes at Alfred's comment. "Oh, shut up, you. I've just been busy."

Alfred held open the door when they reached. "Just like always, huh?" Arthur shook his head at that but couldn't help smiling.

* * *

_**They totally started dating after that.  
**_

_**Also, although Arthur hadn't met Matthew before, he **_**does _know Kiku - who happens to be Matthew's boyfriend. I wrote this idea down, see, and that was a specific requirement that wasn't mentioned. =/ Francis may be secretly in love with Mattie? But who knows._  
**

**_The nursing picture: I totally thought of the first two pictures in the second room - and then couldn't think of any more. So, yeah, nurse. (Alfred totally has a secret painting of Artie in a nurse's uniform. You can imagine Arthur finding it a few years into the future and buying an outfit to wear for him or something.)_**

**_P.S. I have no idea what Francis and Arthur work as because I couldn't decide but Arthur's possibly a little higher up with more work to do and they both work at the same place. The uniform is suits so it's probably some boring job._**


	5. Before I Reached the Bottom

_**This is inspired by For Crying Out Loud. It's actually inspired by a line that isn't there. I wasn't completely focussed on it when I was listening and heard 'before I reached the bottom of the bottle'. Bottle was never mentioned. =/  
**_

_**Warnings: Talk of alcoholism (which I don't mean to belittle in any way by the lines at the end). Sunny weather when it's bloody freezing outside lately. Also, this was totally supposed to be serious but it became humourous halfway through and I'm not sure how. It's also really short - sorry. Next one will totally be better.**_

* * *

It was hot.

Arthur supposed that was normal for California in the summer, though. With the sun high in the sky, his view was obscured by an ever-present haze. Luckily, he would be protected from the worst of it: the parasol would see to that. His floral fan was currently a blur in a futile attempt to cool him down as he watched the energetic children dashing about and the surfers on the waves.

"You really should take off your shirt, Artie," said Alfred from beside him. His deckchair had been pushed into the sun where he lounged, his blond hair shining with the cowlick pointing at the sky. A pair of black sunglasses were shielding his eyes. He had taken his own advice and was only wearing a pair of shorts, his chest open for the sun to burn: he hadn't lathered on the sun cream like Arthur had. Of course, Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that he would tan instead of become as red as a lobster.

"No, thank you. I don't want to get burned." He gave Alfred's chest a pointed glance.

"Artie, you're in the shade."

"Mm. It's too hot to move."

At that, Alfred sat up properly, a mischievous grin on his face. Arthur could tell what he was about to say wasn't going to be to his liking. "Well, if you need help..."

"Behave yourself!" cried Arthur, eyeing a group of burly men passing by. "Maybe I don't want to show off my beer belly."

That was the wrong statement to make: Alfred launched himself from his chair and knelt beside Arthur. Ripping the sunglasses from his face, he made sure Arthur felt the full brunt of his frown. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, grabbing Arthur's wrist and stilling his fan. There, a leather band rested. A coin was embedded in it: his one year sober proclamation. "What about this? You're not-"

"Calm down, Al, for goodness' sake!" said Arthur, sitting up properly and wrenching his arm from Alfred's grip. "I haven't been drinking."

Alfred's frown only deepened. "Then why'd you say you have a-?"

"Come off it, Al." Arthur sighed. "I was only saying that because I'm still rather self-conscious. I didn't think I'd have to spell that out for you."

"Sorry," mumbled Alfred. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist. "I just worry a little. Y'know, since we're on holiday and all."

"Why would that make me start drinking again?"

His response was a shrug. "Dunno," he added after a moment of silence.

Sighing, Arthur pulled Alfred up from his waist so he could look him in the eye. Once green met blue, he spoke. "I am _never_ going to touch alcohol again. Not after everything I've done to reach this stage. Not after you saved me."

With a fond smile, Alfred took hold of one of Arthur's hands, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. "I was a regular, ol' hero, right?"

"Yes, you were," said Arthur, seriously. "I can't thank you enough."

"Well, you could do one thing for me."

"What's that?" asked Arthur, tilting his head with a curious look. Alfred usually told him that it had been his duty to save him and he needed no reward. What had changed?

"Take off that shirt!" Alfred suddenly yelled, surging to his feet and gripping the hem of Arthur's white t-shirt. Arthur cried out and fell backwards, at an angle, almost bringing Alfred on top of him. Thankfully, Alfred stopped himself, his hands on either side of Arthur's body. Before Arthur could even blush, his boyfriend was up and attempting to take off his shirt again, despite Arthur's protests.

And, even though he was yelling and hitting Alfred with his closed fan, both of them knew how much they loved each other. Both of them knew how close they had been to losing the other, how close Arthur had been to drinking himself to death. Arthur was utterly grateful to Alfred to helping him see the world in a brighter way and he knew Alfred was relieved that Arthur had managed to come back from the brink.

Of course, Arthur had done that just for him and he didn't regret it one bit.

"Hey, hey!" said Alfred, giving up on his attempts to remove the shirt. "If I promise to behave, can we go to McDonald's?"

Arthur's brow furrowed. "I didn't think you _could_ behave, dearest."

"I can too!" And, with that, Alfred sat up. He held out a hand, a large grin on his face which made Arthur suspicious. Narrowing his eyes, he took the proffered hand anyway and was pulled back into a sitting position. "See?" Alfred even got up from the deckchair so it wouldn't collapse which had been Arthur's next worry. "Can we go to McDonald's, then?"

"Oh, all right," sighed Arthur, though he was smiling rather exasperatedly.

"Really? You mean it? No take backs, right?"

"No 'take backs'," Arthur agreed. "We'll pop by the-"

He was interrupted when Alfred leaned over, grabbed the hem of Arthur's shirt and yanked it upwards with such force that Arthur's arms rose a little, utterly involuntarily. Because of that, it was rather easier for Alfred to tug the shirt off, leaving Arthur in just a pair of khaki shorts. Gaping at the American, Arthur could only watch as he ran off, cackling loudly as he headed towards the sea.

"Hey!" shouted Arthur, once he'd regained his senses. "You sly bastard! Get back here with that!"

Instead, Alfred scrunched the material into a ball and flung it at the waves. It landed on the water quite a ways off shore and spread out, bobbing like some sort of sea creature coming up for air. Then he rushed back to Arthur who had watched the whole display in disbelief. "Now we gotta go to McDonald's even if you're mad," sang Alfred as he neared his boyfriend, doing a funny little dance in the sand.

With another sigh, Arthur collapsed back onto his deckchair. "I think I need a drink. Of tea," he added, for clarification.

"Tea? Here?" asked Alfred, flopping down to the ground beside Arthur so he could lean his head on Arthur's bare stomach. "You _do_ realise it's, like, ninety degrees out here? It's too hot for tea."

"It's never too hot for tea," Arthur declared.

* * *

_**EDIT: I changed the ending. The first one was stupid with a capital S.  
**_


	6. You Know I Love You

_**Another one inspired by For Crying Out Loud. Specifically for the line "Oh babe, don't go".  
**_

_**Warnings: sexual situation, mention of Lucifer, religious(?) stuff(?). (I'm not sure if you'd say it's very religious, considering.**_

* * *

Alfred stepped into the hotel room he hadn't paid for (he didn't have any money) and felt himself relax. As he shut the door, he could feel his disguise slipping off. The bright colours of his clothes slowly dissolved to become darkest black, the tight leather clinging to his body. His Converse became big biker boots instead, creeping up his shins. Blue eyes shone brighter and a little more unnaturally. When he shook his head, the blond locks fell away to reveal black hair darker than his clothes, the purest darkness. Spiralling horns sprouted from each side of his head as a tail and a set of large, leathery wings popped out behind him. His tail waved lazily through the air: he was alone at last – no more demons following him around.

The room was fairly large but not the biggest in the establishment. Cream seemed to be the colour scheme but the bed had a navy duvet on it to pull the eye towards it. Little blue pillows and cushions decorated it. The pale curtains had been pulled open and tied out of the way. With a flick of his hand, Alfred changed that, making sure that no light would get in – he certainly didn't need it. There was a door that led to the bathroom and Alfred made his way over, poking his head inside to see what was there. A decent-sized tub stood against the wall, a shower head above it. Toilet, sink, mirror: Alfred stood in front of that and tugged at his hair, making sure it was as perfect as an imperfect being could make it.

While he fussed, a bright, white light began to shine in the bedroom, beaming through the open door. Alfred grinned at his reflection before sauntering out. "Do you really have to appear like that?" he drawled as the light faded.

Standing by the window, a man turned. He was no mere man, though, for he had beautiful white wings folded against his back and a glowing halo above his head. A pristine toga hung from a shoulder, bunched around his hips and barely covering him up. Sandals were tied to his feet, the ribbon extending up to his thighs. Messy blond hair looked perfect, even if is was as messy as usual, and bright green eyes glinted as the man grinned.

"Oh? Are you having trouble with it, demon?"

Rolling his eyes, Alfred folded his arms. "I'm pretty sure I'm immune to it by now, doll."

With a laugh, the angel floated closer. "I only have an hour or so before someone will notice I'm missing."

"That's so unfair," Alfred grumbled, making his way to the bed. "I have a few days."

"Ah. I'm sorry, love-"

"Nah, it's all right, Artie." Alfred spared him a lazy smile. "I'll find something else to do."

"Would that be corrupting human souls again? Because I'm not sure I can let you do that, my dear." Arthur smirked at Alfred who rolled his eyes.

"Nah, I need a vacation. Was just gonna sit here and laze around, really."

"Ah. Then, if you're going to stay here, I'll come back when I have time to myself."

"Really?" asked Alfred, his tail waving back and forth. Regaining control of himself, he stopped it: showing his excitement would damage his pride. He flapped his wings a little in embarrassment but he continued speaking so Arthur wouldn't comment. "You really want to?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking bemused. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

The demon shrugged. He didn't want to admit that he often wondered if he'd ever see Arthur again. Deciding to move on, he said, "Well, whatever." Flopping down onto the bed, he held out his arms. "Come closer."

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur stepped closer. "You do realise I don't take orders from you?" He took another step, now within Alfred's reach.

Grinning, Alfred took advantage of his proximity and grabbed his wrist. He pulled the angel on top of him, the fluttering of Arthur's wings to keep him aloft for a moment longer. When Arthur had finally alighted, he was sitting on Alfred's lap. The demon's grin widened.

"So?" he said, shrugging a shoulder. Letting go of his wrist, he placed one hand on Arthur's waist and the other on his thigh. Slowly, he slid the latter hand upwards and under his toga. "Don't you have a time limit?"

With a small gasp, Arthur placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders to steady himself. "I _thought_ we could do some of that... foreplay that you taught me about."

"Oh? The angel is getting kinky, hm?"

That caused Arthur to blush. "Don't mock me," he snapped, pulling away from Alfred a little. But Alfred slid the hand on his hip around to the small of his back and pulled him close again. Arthur lost his balance and he fell forward, his wings sweeping through the air in a vain attempt to keep him from falling into Alfred's chest. "Oof!"

"Sorry, babe." Laying back in the bed, Alfred took Arthur with him. "We'll have fun next time."

Sitting up, Arthur smiled down at Alfred. Alfred grinned back at his lovely angel, amused that he was eager after his initial dislike of the demon. However, to speed things up, he lifted a hand, gently cupped Arthur's face and drew him down into a kiss. He started it off slow and languid but, without pausing for breath (neither of them really needed to breathe, after all), it soon became much more passionate. They were both panting by the time Arthur pulled away to look at Alfred, his eyes darkened with lust.

"So you want me to ride you, hm?" Arthur asked with a wicked grin. He shifted on Alfred's lap and ground down against him, drawing a moan from Alfred. Without thinking, the demon bucked his hips slightly, giving away how aroused he was. He had always hated that with previous partners, letting them know just how much of an effect they had on him. With Arthur it was different: it excited him.

"Just-" Breaking off, Alfred growled and slid his hands up Arthur's thigh, pushing the toga out of the way so he could see him in all his glory.

And that was when a beautiful tinkling sound began to fill the room. It made Alfred feel woozy and caused Arthur to tense. They both looked around and found a new item in the room. Sitting on one of the bedside tables was a brilliant, white phone. It shone with a holy light and Alfred had to close his eyes as his head pounded and he felt a little ill.

Using his angelic strength, Arthur pushed Alfred's hands away even as the demon tried to cling to him. His pure wings flapped and lifted him from the bed so that he could get to the phone without the indignity of crawling. Alfred propped himself up on his elbows so he could stare at Arthur's bare butt before it was (sadly) covered by the toga falling back into place.

Without hesitation, Arthur picked up the receiver. "Hello," he said. He listened for a moment before nodding. "Yes. I understand. I'll be right there, sir." With that, he hung up and the phone disappeared.

Angry now, Alfred sat up properly, glaring at the angel as Arthur turned back to look at him. "Arthur," growled Alfred.

"You know I can't disobey a direct order, Al," sighed Arthur, coming back over to sit beside him. "I'm so-"

At that moment, another sound filled the room: a horrible screeching noise which caused Arthur to cry out and cover his ears with his hands. Alfred's head whipped around to stare wide-eyed at the red phone which had appeared on the bedside table closest to him. Without rising from the bed, he picked it up, his tail waving in agitation.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed at both interruptions.

"Ah, Alfred," said a silkily smooth voice. Alfred shuddered: he hadn't heard this voice in a while, generally avoiding that area of Hell. "I'm glad I caught you." The way he said it implied the additional words, _in the act_.

"What're you calling for? Gotta be something pretty important, yeah?"

"Indeed. We need you to come back to Hell."

"Why?"

"Are you... disobeying a direct order?" asked the voice, tone dangerous.

Those words made Alfred tense. Had he been listening in? No, he would have felt his presence, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, he glanced around the room for signs of demon magic before looking to the waiting Arthur. If they ever found out...

"No," Alfred assured him.

"Good. I expect you down here as soon as you can."

"Yeah." Alfred hung up and turned to Arthur.

"Did they call you back, too?" asked the angel, frowning.

"Uh huh..."

"That's... That can't be good," Arthur whispered. "Both of us being called back, at the same time? That's unheard of. That's-"

"-bad," finished Alfred, frowning as well.

"We should go."

"Aw, c'mon." Alfred gestured at his crotch where it was obvious he was still plenty aroused. "We can at least-"

"No, Al. We can do that later."

"Artie!" whined Alfred, pouting a little.

"I'm leaving."

"Oh, babe, c'mon. Don't go. Not when I'm like this."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud, Alfred; I can't. We both need to leave."

"What if it's our punishment?" asked Alfred as Arthur turned to go. He watched the angel pause and turn back. "What if they want you up there to put you in angel prison?"

"Don't be daft. If an angel misbehaves, they... fall." But Arthur looked worried and Alfred could tell he was keeping something from him. The angel was lying, something he hadn't thought angels capable of. Then again, he had thought the same for lust and there was Arthur, wanting to have sex.

Biting his lip, Alfred waited until Arthur was looking right into his glowing eyes before speaking in little more than a whisper. "What if we never see each other again?"

He could see Arthur's breath catch and the angel glanced away, looking quite worried. There was silence for a moment before Arthur sighed and came back to Alfred's side, sitting on the bed to hug him. "Well. Just remember, even if we can't see each other for a while, I love you." Alfred gasped at that: neither of them had said that before. Pulling away, Arthur fixed Alfred with a stern gaze. "But I don't believe we'll never see each other again. Now, close your eyes – I don't want to blind you when I leave." Without warning, Arthur slipped from Alfred's grasp, smiling fondly at him.

Instead of closing them, Alfred's eyes widened. "No! Wait! Arthur, don't-!" He never got to finish as Arthur turned and opened his wings wide. A bright light began to emanate from him and Alfred eventually had to look away; though, he kept reaching for the angel.

When darkness returned, Alfred dropped his hand. He bit his lip, shifted where he sat and then ran a hand through his hair. Glancing to where the red phone had sat, he decided that this didn't look good – for Heaven, Hell _and_ Earth. He had a vague idea, after all, of what could be happening...

But the worst thing about this situation was that he hadn't gotten the chance to tell Arthur about the miracle he had created. He had made a demon love.

* * *

It turned out that Alfred was correct. The reason for the call back to Hell was the end of days. The apocalypse. The end of the world. The most spectacular war in Earth's history. The big shindig with the angels.

After all the demons had gotten back to Hell, Lucifer opened the gates and they were let loose on the world. That day, screams and crying and pleading had been heard all over the world. But some people were calmed by the angels which flowed from above, coming to the battlefield with a fanfare.

Chaos reigned. Streets were filled with bloody feathers and torn tails. Halos could be found in the fields and horns were discovered in rubbish tips. Swords clashed with swords, gunfire met gunfire. Humans tried to fight off the demons and some seemed to take dislike towards the angels and fought _them_.

Alfred couldn't understand how angels would be able to make a Paradise from the wreckage of the world. He supposed it wasn't his place to know: if the angels won, he would be wiped from existence. As such, he lay low, avoiding the battles which raged in the skies overhead as much as possible. Sometimes he would rise up and tear the wings from arrogant angels who dared attack him. However, the guilt was starting to get to him: would Arthur be upset at this brunette's death? Did he know this guy who was waving a white flag? But the alternative, his death, meant he fought with every fibre of his being.

One day – or night, Alfred couldn't tell any more – Alfred was wandering the streets of the mostly deserted New York. Times Square was silent and it was odd. He was standing on the top of a set of traffic lights when he heard the familiar sounds of a battle getting closer. Glancing upwards, he could see light clashing against dark. One dark figure fell from the sky, zig-zagging towards where Alfred watched. Finally, it passed Alfred, so close he could reach out and grab it, and landed with a sickening crunch. Sighing, he stepped from his place and allowed himself to float down to the large body. He rolled it over with his foot – and gasped.

Although he had not entirely liked the guy, Ivan had been there since Alfred himself had turned up in Hell. Now he lay, dead. Growling, Alfred's wings tensed before driving down, letting him launch into the air, flying towards the battle. Drawing his black sword – he liked to be up close and personal in these fights – he entered the fray, keeping his hand on his gun in case he needed a little help. With Alfred's assistance, they dispatched two angels. Whooping in delight, Alfred turned to the next angel – and froze.

_Arthur._

Staring back at him, the angel looked shocked. This was clearly not how they were supposed to meet again. Alfred couldn't move. How could he? If he went against his own kind now, he would be labelled a traitor and killed by Lucifer himself. They might even kill Arthur if they got hold of him. But he couldn't, he _wouldn't_ kill Arthur.

It was up to Arthur, then, and Alfred hoped he wouldn't want to kill Alfred, either. Hadn't he said he loved him? Did he still or did he think Alfred had been using him? The seconds seemed to stretch but it didn't take long for the angel to choose.

Their swords clashed, purest white against darkest black.


	7. That's The Truth

_**This one is based on I'd Lie For You and That's the Truth - and so will the next two.  
**_

_**Warning: Character death(dead?), probably kinda creepy and dark. But only if you work out what's actually happening. Also, bad language and crude... conversation of a sort. There's probably some other things to warn of but I don't know what about... Except that I'm not leaving a note at the end to explain to you what the hell happened. I'm hoping it's sorta obvious?**_

_**P.S. Alejándro Castro Diaz is Cuba.  
**_

* * *

Arthur was in the middle of preparing the dinner when there came a knock at the door. Blinking and wiping his hands on a towel, he made his way through the flat to answer it. He was rather surprised when he opened it for, on the other side, were two men in suits that he had met only a few times before.

"Detectives Beilschmidt and Beilschmidt?" he said, eyes wide in alarm. "What is it? Why are you here? You're not here to-?"

"We need to speak with your fiancé," said one of them, cutting him off. He was the Rude Beilschmidt: pale hair, reddish-brown eyes and cheeky grin when the situation called for it. As far as Arthur was concerned he was cocky and irritating, someone he disliked immensely but manners dictated that he be polite to him. For now, at least.

"He's not home yet," Arthur told them, frowning. "Why do you want to see him? We already told you all we know about that Zwingli murder."

"Unfortunately," said the other detective – a serious man with slicked back, blond hair and hard, blue eyes – whom Arthur had dubbed as The Brains, "we are not here about that."

"But- But, what-?"

"May we come in?" asked Brains.

"Oh. Um, sure," he said and stepped aside, wondering what they were there for. Arthur had only met these two detectives a few times. Each occasion was to ask for Alfred's whereabouts and knowledge related to a murder. Of course, Arthur had told them that it wasn't Alfred but they seemed to believe him less and less with each one that occurred.

Once the detectives had settled in their relatively modest living room (Alfred was eager to move into a penthouse once they were married), Arthur made his way to the kitchen to turn everything off. When he returned, Rude Beilschmidt gestured at Arthur's armchair. "Have a seat, Mister Kirkland."

"I take it you don't want anything to drink," Arthur stated as he did so. After all, every time they visited, they had refused. Which was a shame, really, because he could make a mean cup of tea. Coffee, though, was Alfred's speciality.

"No, thank you," answered Brains. "Let us get down to business. Have you ever heard Mister Jones mention an Alejándro Castro Diaz?"

"Yes," said Arthur, not even having to think about it. "This... Diaz character was on the telly the other week and Alfred was complaining about how he couldn't start his new project because Diaz's company was in the way. I'm not entirely sure about the intricacies of it. Something about forty-seven thousand dollars. I think he moved onto a new project while he was in negotiations, though."

"And how did he seem to you when he was complaining? Angry? Upset?" asked Rude.

"Look," said Arthur, getting annoyed. It was obvious they were accusing Alfred of something. "What's all this about?"

The two detectives glanced at each other, Rude raising an eyebrow. Brains spoke up. "Mister Castro Diaz was found, murdered, earlier today."

Arthur gasped. That was horrible. But, now that he knew why they were here, he knew that they suspected his lovely Alfred. He struggled to keep his emotions under control but managed to say, his voice wavering slightly, "Now, look here. Alfred wouldn't hurt him. Sure, he was in his way, but he would have negotiated him down until he got what he wanted or needed or-or whatever. You're barking up the wrong tree – again."

"We have plenty of witnesses that said they heard Mister Jones stating that he wished that Mister Castro Diaz would disappear," said Rude, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't this rather handy for him?"

"Of course he said that!" Arthur was seething. "He was upset and stressed. That doesn't mean he killed him. When did this murder happen? I'll prove to you that he wasn't able to kill him!"

Again, they glanced at each other. Then Rude said, "Last night, between eleven and one in the morning."

Now, should he tell them the truth? Alfred would probably back him up, regardless, of course. They would make sure their stories matched before the police could talk to Alfred – they couldn't drive through the streets, hunting him down on a shopping trip, before he returned home. Making his decision quickly, Arthur smiled in relief.

"Ha! Although Alfred _did_ go out last night to buy some ice cream, he was back by nine, we watched a Doctor Who episode and then we went to bed."

"How do you know he didn't leave after you fell asleep?" asked Rude, leaning forward to look at him right in the eye.

Arthur stared him down, calming himself somewhat so he wouldn't do anything rash. Now was not the time for that. Instead, he smirked. "We had sex, that's how." He was amused by the blush which graced both of the detectives' cheeks. "_And_ he kept it in. It's rather a kink of mine. When I woke up in the morning – _before_ Alfred, mind – it was still in. It would be rather hard to put it back in without waking me up."

Brains swallowed. "So... So what you're saying is that Alfred's alibi is..."

"His dick in my arse all night." Arthur had to stop himself from laughing openly at Brains's darkening blush.

"Are you sure you're not covering for him, Arthur?" asked Rude, his voice low and insistent. "You _do_ know that that would be aiding and abetting."

"Of course I do!" snapped Arthur, getting angrier. These two were always, _always_, annoying. "If you're going to accuse me of crimes I haven't committed without the proper documentation or evidence, then I suggest you get out of my house!" He rose to his feet, glowering down at the detectives.

Rude looked as though he was about to protest but Brains placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They stood in unison. "Well," said Brains, "thank you for your time."

Arthur nodded curtly and herded them to the front door, still scowling. "Yes, yes. A _pleasure_ to help. Goodbye." The two men had barely crossed the threshold before Arthur slammed the door. Sighing, he put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment. Alfred would be home soon but the dinner was probably ruined. Perhaps he should call him to ask him to pick something up – or to make sure he wasn't working late again.

* * *

"I'm home!" called Alfred as he pushed his way through the front door. Arthur was at his side in an instant to help him through with the food as he loosened his tie in relief.

"Welcome home, love. I'll just put this in the kitchen." He hurried through and placed the cartons of food on the table, bustling around much like a housewife.

"Can we eat now?" whined Alfred as he dropped his briefcase and computer bag in the hall without much care. "I'm half-starved here!"

"Ah, no. There's something I have to tell you," said Arthur, frowning. "Perhaps it's best to forget about the food for the moment."

"Huh? What's wrong, babe?"

"Come on." Arthur took Alfred's hands and began to gently pull him to the living room. He pushed him onto the couch and sat down beside him, close enough to hug him if necessary. Swallowing, he gazed at his perfect fiancé: handsome and clever, the head of a massive company, loving and kind. He was a god amongst men and didn't deserve to be accused of crimes or for people to badmouth him. But Arthur had to tell him or everything would fall apart.

"Those detectives were here again..."

"What?!" cried Alfred, frowning. "I told them to go through my lawyer if they wanted to talk about Zwingli."

"They weren't here about Zwingli. I take it you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Alfred asked, eyes wide and face paling.

Concerned, Arthur raised his hands to cup his face and rub his thumbs against his cheeks. "Last night, that Diaz bloke was stabbed to death. Forty-seven times." He paused before adding, "Though, that last bit was what I've heard from the news so I may be incorrect."

Alfred inhaled sharply. "Oh, my God. Diaz? Seriously? But... But he-he was fine yesterday morning. He was even backing down a little."

"Oh?" Arthur cocked his head. "So he was going to sell those shares to you for less than forty-seven thousand?"

"Yeah... I can't believe he's gone- Wait." Alfred focussed on Arthur, a hurt expression on his face. "Do the cops think it was me again?"

"Don't worry. I told them you were with me."

"But-But I wasn't. I was working late again, with no-one to verify-"

"Shush, shush, love. I won't let them find out," said Arthur, pecking Alfred's lips. "Look, I told them that you'd gone to the shops and got home by nine. And then we watched Doctor Who and had sex. That's what we did."

"Not until, like, midnight or whatever! And didn't they say I coulda just left while you were sleeping?"

Arthur smirked. "I'm sorry, love, but I told them what you did."

"You mean..." Alfred turned red which was much more reassuring than being pale.

"Now, you didn't kill Diaz so you have nothing to worry about, even if they do find out. But they won't because you'll just tell them what I told them and they'll never know."

For a second, Alfred looked uncertain. Then he sighed and leaned over to rub their noses together. "You're too good to me, sweetheart. I'm sorry you're having to lie for me."

Tilting his head upwards, Arthur pressed their lips together, smiling into the kiss. When they broke apart, Arthur patted Alfred's cheek lightly. "It's quite all right, dear. I'd do anything for you, after all. Now, you wait here and I'll go split everything onto two plates. Just relax."

"I'm not sure I can," Alfred admitted with a chuckle as Arthur stood.

With a quick peck to the forehead, Arthur replied, "I know a cure for that, pet."

He made his way into the kitchen and opened up the food. They had had an argument on the phone about what to get and had ended up with a variety. Alfred had gone to a World Restaurant and bought a few different things, including a calzone, pasta, what looked like wurst and some fresh sushi. Most of it was easy to split between them, but he would have to cut the calzone.

However, when he turned to the knife block, he sighed when he remembered that one of his knives weren't there any more. It was in a bin, or maybe even in a landfill by now. He'd have to work out how to explain that to Alfred at some point but not at the moment. What would Alfred do if he got suspicious, after all? No doubt he would call off the wedding and Arthur couldn't allow that – he loved Alfred too much.

But, without Diaz, their life would perfect now. With smiles and kisses and Alfred's happiness. And no-one would take that away from him. Absolutely no-one. Not even those detectives. Arthur would protect Alfred from them and, in turn...

Well, no-one would suspect _him_ with their alibis.

So he was down a knife and, in the meantime, he picked out a different one. With one swift slice the calzone was in two. He was getting quite used to using knives these days. "Dinner's ready!" he called and settled himself at the table for a lovely meal with his _completely innocent_ lover.


	8. Do Anything You Want

_**Another one for I'd Lie For You (And That's The Truth).  
**_

_**Warning: sappiness. Arthur being an idiot.**_

* * *

"I love you."

Arthur blinked at Alfred, alarmed. "Where-Where did that come from?" he asked, glancing around them in embarrassment. Everyone else in the park was uninterested, however, so he didn't need to worry about anyone hearing such a declaration. Couples walked arm-in-arm along the path. A few groups of children ran around with various toys, balls or Frisbees. People in smart dress used the patch of ground as a shortcut to their work or as somewhere to stop and have a bite to eat – just as Arthur and Alfred were in the middle of doing as they sat on their bench.

"Nowhere in particular," Alfred replied with a grin. "I was trying to work out the best time to tell ya but I decided I might as well just do it whenever you did something to make me fall for you all the more."

"Oh, I-" Arthur paused. "What did I do?"

Chuckling, Alfred picked up a napkin abandoned between them and wiped at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "You looked adorable."

But Arthur yelped and turned red. "Oh, my God! Why didn't you _say_ anything?!" He rubbed at his face, just in case there was something else stuck to it.

Alfred only laughed in response. "Why would I? The pompous, fancy gentleman with food on his face? How could I pass that up?"

Spluttering, Arthur nudged Alfred as he continued laughing. "Quiet, you! Why are you with the fancy gentleman if you think he's pompous?"

"Because I know he's not really all that pompous," Alfred said, nodding as if to affirm it. "And because I love him."

At that, Arthur's heart skipped a beat again. He gave Alfred a weak smile. The last time he had heard those words, his boyfriend had been eager to start his own business with Arthur's money. And the time before that had been when he was much younger and innocent and he had been thoroughly strung along. He had always told himself that he had been silly to believe them – and now he wasn't sure if he should believe Alfred. They had only been together for four months, after all. Alfred couldn't possibly have fallen in love with _him_.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

He looked up to see Alfred staring at him with wide eyes, his lip jutting out in a slight pout. Arthur looked away, down to his lap. Toying with his sleeves, he said, "What... What do you mean?"

"I just told you I love you. Aren't you gonna say it back?"

Hesitating, Arthur took a breath. "I... I'm sorry Alfred but... how can I believe that?" He chanced a glance up. "We barely know each other. And... I just-"

"No, no!" cried Alfred, shimmying up the bench and throwing his arms around Arthur. "Please. I _do_ love you. I swear it!"

Arthur snorted. "Prove it," he said, without thinking. When it hit him what he had said, he pulled back with a gasp. "Wai- I- No." Flustered and confused, he stared at Alfred, his face red. Alfred looked shocked. "I... I have to go back to the shop." And he fled.

* * *

Days passed and Arthur didn't hear from Alfred. He was too nervous to text or call him as he continued with his life, working in his very own bookshop and going home to his rather expensive, lonely flat. The shop he owned and worked in was doing relatively well but he had had to turn to the Internet recently to keep his sales up. Frankly, he was worried about it and how he was going to continue paying his father back for everything he had given him. Now, with the added stress of being without Alfred, life was grinding him down.

He felt more exhausted and upset as a week, two weeks passed. But Alfred never called and he was beginning to think that he had been dumped. Nervously, he had called once only to get the answer machine and hang up in a panic. The night that he had done so, he cried himself to sleep. It was only then that he realised how much he cared for Alfred, how much he ached for him.

How much he loved him.

The next day, he had wandered around in a daze, trying to think of the best way to tell Alfred. If he could find him, anyway. He still wasn't answer and his e-mail account came back with an Out of Office reply.

So, when Alfred turned up at his door during the third week, it was all he could do to keep himself from launching himself at him. Instead, he merely stared and said, "Oh. Hello...?"

As though nothing had happened, Alfred grinned. "Heya! You gotta come with me!"

"What? Why?"

"Just get your shoes on and stuff and let's go! It's a surprise." Alfred bounced on the balls of his feet, cowlick bobbing as he moved, blue eyes twinkling. Since he was so excited, Arthur sighed and did as he was told, wondering if he would be able to tell Alfred his important news.

* * *

"Why are we _here_, of all places?" Arthur asked as he gazed out of the window.

He had asked where they were heading to when he had spotted the rental car. But Alfred had refused to tell him, despite it being obvious that they were going outside of London. They had driven for an hour or two, stopping at a service station for lunch. It had been a little awkward since Arthur wasn't sure if he should apologise or not: Alfred was acting as though this was a date and that nothing had happened between them. Because of that, Arthur had been unable to speak up about his own love, too confused and concerned to even open his mouth.

Finally, as they drove on, Arthur began to recognise his surroundings. They seemed to be heading to his family's estate. However, he couldn't understand why Alfred would be taking him there, so he had questioned his boyfriend. There had been no answer and he had to wait until they were at the gates to question him yet again.

"It's a surprise," Alfred repeated, grinning.

"Are you going to tell me what that means?" asked Arthur, trying to think of what Alfred could possibly be up to. When he realised that the last time he had seen Alfred, he had told him to prove his love, he gasped. "What have you done?" he demanded, a little panicked. Alfred couldn't have done something as stupid as talk to his parents about marriage, right? That was far too fast!

"Don't panic," Alfred told him as the gates were remotely opened and he drove through, heading to the house. "We're just gonna park, by the way, we're not going inside. Gotta go to the woods."

"What? Why?" Now Arthur was very confused. His father's estate was huge and had woods at the back of the house, beyond the neatly kept gardens. They continued beyond the boundary of the estate, the border marked out by a low, stone wall. He had loved wandering through them as a child but he couldn't see what Alfred would want to take him there for.

"You'll see!" sang Alfred, stopping the car in front of the sandstone manor and turning off the engine. Arthur could only follow him as the young architect hurriedly scrambled out.

They walked calmly to the woods, Alfred swinging Arthur's hand and chattering about nothing. It caused Arthur to smile warmly. Even if the reason for being here was likely ridiculous, he was happy to have had this afternoon with him.

Winding their way through the trees, Arthur began to notice some odd things. The most glaring one was the new path – there had never been an actual walkway marked out but now there was a clear dirt path, bordered by small bricks. Some branches had been broken off as though lots of large mammals had been passing through. Or, perhaps, people.

And then he spotted something ahead he had never seen before.

When he gasped, Alfred seemed to realise he had seen it and pulled Arthur through the last of the trees and into the new clearing. There was cut grass, soft underfoot, and tiny flowerbeds dotted across it filled with bright flowers. A faerie circle was just visible, though Arthur supposed the mushrooms were actually fake. Two stone basins sat at either end of the clearing, the water running from one to the other through a stone channel to create a fake stream, the sound of trickling water mixing with the twittering of birds. To get to the other side of it, a tiny little bridge had been erected. The destination seemed to be a large piece of old wood, carved into the shape of a bench and likely waxed to prevent decay if the shine was anything to go by. A tinkling noise drew Arthur's attention upwards to see a wind chime dancing in the breeze – and several fairy lights tangled in the branches above them, off for now, but with the promise of light when evening fell.

It was perfect, a place for him to retreat to. Arthur absolutely loved it and his vision blurred with happy tears. Turning to Alfred, he gaped at him. "A-Al-"

"I told you I love you, Artie," said Alfred, grinning. "You told me about how much you wished there was a proper place to come to when we explored this place a couple of months ago and, when you described your perfect, private space, I could see it. Literally see it. And all I had to do was design it and ask your father for permission."

"He... He gave you permission to mess around with the estate?" Arthur breathed, awed. "He _never_ let's _anyone_ decide what to do with his land!"

"Well, I told him it was a present for you and he seemed to like the idea more. Kinda. It took a while to convince him. And then I had to work double time. But he's gonna let me use it for my portfolio!" Then Alfred grimaced and grabbed Arthur's hand. "That's why I didn't come see you for a while. I'm so sorry. Were you lonely without me? Because I missed you."

Arthur made a choked noise. "Wha-? Alfred, of course I-" He looked around again. "This is beautiful. Why...?"

"You told me to prove how much I love you. Doesn't this prove it?" And Alfred looked so hopeful that Arthur couldn't have said no even if he had wanted to.

"I... Oh, Alfred. You didn't need to. I was being stupid, really," Arthur told him, a pained expression on his face. "You shouldn't have gone to all the trouble."

"But I wanted to show you that I would do _anything_ for you. _Anything_ to make you smile." Letting go of one of Arthur's hands, he reached up to rub a thumb over Arthur's cheeks. "So don't make that expression."

"Idiot," said Arthur, laughing, a tear managing to escape but quickly wiped away for him. "I... I love you, too, all right? Stupid. Doing all this... Honestly! What am I going to do with you?"

"Dunno," Alfred replied, his grin wider than ever. "Kiss me?"

And so he did.

* * *

_**I didn't want to spoil anything so I didn't put this at the start but Arthur's the son of a Lord. Alfred, however, is in his final year at university for being an architect. (I know that a garden isn't an architect's job to do but I figured Al could do it.) And they happened to meet when Alfred turned up in Arthur's bookshop one day. **_

_**I was going to have Arthur at the end say that he'd do anything Alfred wanted - including moving to America when Alfred had finished university, like Alfred had originally been planning to till he met Arthur. But that seems like a conversation for another time. **_

_**(The pompous fancy gentleman comment is supposed to be an in-joke from the first time they met and, er, the arguments they got into until they started dating. Just so's you know.)**_


	9. Sell My Soul

_**This is another one based on I'd Lie For You (And That's the Truth).  
**_

_**BUT! It's also a prequel to I'll Be Gone When Morning Comes from earlier in this collection. I think you know what's coming.**_

_**WARNING: for character death, demons. Uh. Possibly other stuff. Possible spoilers for Supernatural in the ending Author's Note.  
**_

* * *

"Alfred!" cried Arthur, hurrying to his side and quickly unstrapping him from the table. "God, Alfred, don't you do this!"

All Alfred could respond with was a gurgle; they must have severed his vocal cords. The American didn't seem to be able to move and Arthur bit back a sob. His neck was covered with red, his life's blood leaving him much quicker than Arthur had expected. It stained his shirt and poured onto the table he had been secured to, dripping down the sides and staining the carpet.

Finished with the straps, Arthur returned to Alfred's side and stared at him, his mind blank as he tried to think of what he should be doing. Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he looked down to see that Alfred had the cuff between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled it again and Arthur looked into Alfred's eyes, past the blood-spattered lenses of his glasses and into the sparkling blue.

More gurgling alarmed him and Arthur shook his head. "No. Don't talk. I- Damn." Quickly, he began to try to remove his jacket – but a firm tug stopped him. Looking down, he saw Alfred's mouth moving and, frowning, he stared at it and watched him mouth out a short phrase as he struggled to breathe.

_Love you._

With that, the hand gripping Arthur's sleeve fell and Alfred's eyes gazed blankly at the ceiling.

"_No!_" screamed Arthur. He grabbed Alfred's shoulders and shook him. Nothing happened, no movement bar Alfred's lolling head. "No, don't you dare! Don't you tell me that and- Fuck! No, no, no!" Breathing hard, Arthur tried to stop panicking and think of a way to stop this happening. His thoughts turned to Yao and all of his knowledge. "That's... Yeah. Listen, Alfred, I'm taking you to Yao. I'm saving you, no matter what I have to do. You don't deserve to die like this."

So Arthur scooped Alfred up, his limbs hanging limply. The taller man was heavy but Arthur didn't give a damn. He'd be able to carry him miles if it meant he could save him.

Thankfully, he had parked right outside and had left the front door open. With some careful manoeuvring, Arthur propped Alfred up on the front passenger seat. Then he got in the car himself and sped off into the night.

* * *

"Do you have _any_ idea-?!" Yao snapped as he opened his door but he stopped speaking as soon as he saw the distraught and panicked Arthur. Alfred was cradled to his chest and he looked pleadingly up at Yao.

"Please. Please, God, do _something_," Arthur breathed, exhausted from the fight, the drive and the emotional turmoil. "Don't let him die."

Yao moved out of the way, frowning, and let Arthur place Alfred gently on his couch. "Arthur..." he began, slowly.

"There's got to be something to reverse this. To stop it. _Do something_!" Arthur glowered at Yao, daring him to oppose him.

And Yao rose to the challenge, shaking his head. "Arthur. He's _dead_. There's nothing I can do. Not even any of my spells will save him."

"No! It's- He can't be-" A sob escaped him and Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth, appalled that he had let that noise come from him. Tears trickled over his hand. He looked away from Yao, not wanting him to see.

"Arthur..." said Yao after a moment. "I... I was going to go shopping today so... I'll go get some things for a Hunter's funeral. That way you can..." Yao hesitated for a moment. "You can say goodbye."

He didn't respond but he heard Yao leave the room and, a few minutes later, the front door opened and closed. Once he was completely alone, Arthur dropped to his knees beside Alfred's body and began to cry in earnest. He had been so sure that Yao could have done something. The Chinaman had dozens of books dedicated to Hunting and rituals: surely there should have been _something_ someone could have done? Though, deep down, he had known there was nothing humanly possible to be done.

Gasping as an idea occurred to him, Arthur raised his head, eyes wide. A few seconds of debate had him standing, rubbing the tears from his eyes. He wouldn't allow the idiot to die, not after everything they had been through.

* * *

With the car parked at the side of the quiet road, Arthur took out the small trowel and the tin with the appropriate items inside. He walked to the centre of the crossroads and, after making sure no-one could be seen for miles, he crouched down and began to dig. When the hole was big enough, he thrust the tin in and covered it over, patting the dirt down firmly. Then he stood and waited.

It soon seemed to him that he was waiting for too long, though. Nothing was happening. No-one could be seen. He shifted on his feet, growing angrier by the moment. Where the hell was this thing?

"Well, now, look at that. It's Sourcils," said a horribly familiar French voice. Arthur shivered involuntarily and turned.

There was a man leaning on his car, arms folded. He wore stylish – and likely expensive – clothes just as he had the last time they had met. His blond hair was tied back today with a red ribbon to match his shirt – and his eyes. At least they did until he blinked and they returned to the blue irises of his vessel.

"Francis," growled Arthur. "What are you doing here? I didn't want _you_."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm the only one willing to take this call. We all know what you want. But the last time a demon did this for someone – well, it didn't turn out as we hoped it would in the long run." Francis clicked his tongue and pushed himself off of the car with his hips. "Why should I help you?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. He didn't have an answer for that. Except... "Revenge? Besides, I can always summon you into a Devil's Trap and leave you in it."

The demon scoffed at that but began to make his way to the hunter who hadn't moved from the middle of the road. "I could easily escape the trap. But... revenge. Now _that_ I can get behind."

"Hm," said Arthur, still glowering at Francis.

"And, I suppose, I do like the romance of all this." Arthur tensed at that, staring up at the demon who blinked, letting his eyes turn red again. He grinned down at the shorter man. "Oh? Did you think that was a secret? I could tell the boy's love for you from the moment I laid eyes on him. And you _know_ about it. Yet you do nothing. Why is that?"

His constant turmoil about that situation returned and Arthur tried to quash it. He couldn't let Francis toy with him. And, if he didn't hurry, Yao would go ahead with the Hunter's funeral. "It's none of your damned business."

"Anything damned is my business, cher," Francis responded cheerfully, blinking and returning his eyes to their normal colour. They were harder and colder than Alfred's – when he had been alive. Arthur had to mentally shake himself to stop himself from thinking like that. He wasn't gone yet.

"Look, just make a decision and get this over with."

Chortling, Francis reached out a hand to trace a finger over Arthur's cheek. Arthur jerked out of reach, his eyes narrowed. "Well, your love for each other is tragic. Will he be angry with you when he finds out?" Francis paused and, when Arthur didn't answer, grabbed the hunter's chin. "Answer me. Will he be angry?"

Looking straight into those horrible eyes, Arthur did as he was told. "Yes," he whispered, knowing full well that Alfred would be furious. Arthur had once made him promise not to do exactly this and, if he ever found out about Arthur's hypocrisy...

Cruelly, Francis laughed in Arthur's face. "That's all I needed to know. Now, I will give you one year-"

"One!" cried Arthur, struggling against the demon's grip in an attempt to get away. "It's usually ten!"

Francis's grin widened. "Revenge is sweet," he declared before forcibly pressing his lips against Arthur's. Rigid, Arthur could do nothing but let the demon kiss him, force his lips open, plunge his tongue into his mouth – and seal the unfair deal. Then, abruptly, he was released and he stumbled back, grimacing at the taste of wine. "It is done," Francis said.

And, when Arthur blinked, the demon was gone.

* * *

Arthur rolled to a stop in front of Yao's lone house, pulled on the handbrake and left the car idling for a moment. There was another car in front of the wooden building – Yao's car. He had returned, apparently. Which would mean that there was a possibility that Alfred was awake and already somewhat aware of what Arthur had done.

Sighing, he turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. With a sense of dread, Arthur made his way to the front door and lifted his fist to knock.

However, before he could, it was flung open, banging into the wall to Yao's distant protests. There, standing in Arthur's way was Alfred. Quickly, he looked him over. The wound to his neck had healed. His eyes shone again instead of the glazed staring from before. Now, they burned with anger.

"What the _hell_ did you do, Arthur?!" he snapped, scowling.

A small smile flickered onto Arthur's face. "'What the hell', indeed," he said, quietly, before he pulled Alfred into a hug. Alfred tensed in his arms: Arthur had never willingly hugged him before. Eventually, though, the American relaxed into it, hugging Arthur tightly.

The older hunter didn't mind. He was too busy wondering whether it was a good idea to tell Alfred how long he had to live.

* * *

_**Originally, I decided it would be the first time he met Francis. Then I changed my mind and decided Francis had a grudge against them because they somehow foiled one of his deals. That's gonna be a pain to work out what they did. (The thing about someone doing it before is a reference to Sam and Dean Winchester - and the fact the apocalypse didn't happen.)  
**_

_**In Bat Out of Hell, I only said Alfred had told Arthur he loved him once while he was 'sleeping' - but I'll have to rewrite it when I get around to making this into a multi-chapter fic because I suddenly decided Alfred would get the chance to mouth something at Arthur. **_

_**I figured that Yao would know ancient rituals from China - which is what I mean be Chinese spells.**_


	10. I Won't Do That

_**For the song I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That).  
**_

_**WARNINGS: sort-of character death? Maybe? Also, the characters end up repeating themselves a lot so there's lots of "can't", "won't", "don't" and "please". I couldn't help it - the dialogue flowed that way.**_

* * *

"Shit! Arthur!" cried Alfred.

He didn't bother to answer or chance a glance towards his boyfriend. Arthur was a bit preoccupied in using the fire axe to keep the snapping maw away from him. But the thing was stronger than him and he was beginning to stumble backwards. Growling loudly, Arthur tightened his grip on his weapon and dug in his heels. With all the strength he had, he shoved the creature away. Then, as quickly as he could, he slid both hands to the heel of the axe, swung it back and sliced the zombie's head off its shoulders.

They shouldn't have left the last town. It had been fairly quiet there, eerily peaceful. But, after encountering some survivors who were grouchy and seemed rather opposed to them joining them, they had decided to move on. Staying in one place would lead to disaster, they were sure.

However, as soon as they entered the next town, they realised that the place was inundated with the undead, all of them milling around with nothing to do. At least, they had had nothing to do until they walked in. Now, they were in the midst of a long, drawn-out battle, swarmed by zombies. So far, they had managed to dispatch most of them and outrun the others but these ones were somehow stronger and the ones they had left behind were catching up.

Turning from the now still creature, Arthur noted the two zombies Alfred was struggling with. He was alternating between them, pushing them away with his bloodied bat but didn't have enough time to swing at their heads. It didn't help that he kept looking over his shoulder at Arthur. Quickly, Arthur made his way over. How had they managed to get so far from each other? He raised his axe and let his feet pound on the tarmac.

Arthur wasn't quick enough.

As he got within a few feet, one of the zombies didn't stumble back far enough, lunging at Alfred at the same time as the other. Alfred struggled. There was a painful scream. A ripping sound. And the slicing sound as Arthur finally reached him and took off a zombie's head. Alfred was quick to push the other away and whack it with the bat.

"Are you all right?" Arthur panted, wide-eyed.

Alfred shook his head. "No," he gasped. "I got bit." With that, he raised his arm to reveal the huge hole in his arm, the blood dripping onto the road. Arthur stared at it in horror: he was going to be sick. God, they should definitely have stayed in the last town.

"Oh, God, Al..." he breathed, reaching towards him.

"No!" snapped Alfred, pulling away from him. Arthur could feel his heart beginning to crack as he stared back at Alfred's miserable expression. "No, you can't..." Alfred continued, looking back the way they had come. The things were getting closer. "You need to leave. You need to go. Now!"

"What? No. Al, I'm not leaving you!"

"I thought you'd said you'd do anything for me," Alfred growled. "Was that a lie?"

"It-It wasn't but... I'm not going to just _leave_ you here. You're still alive. We could- Maybe there's a-"

"A cure? Don't be stupid, Arthur." Alfred sighed and seemed to be resigned. With sad, blue eyes, he gazed at Arthur. "You're going to survive, Artie. But I need to distract these guys. So. Please. _Go_."

Clenching his jaw, Arthur shook his head and grabbed Alfred's injured arm. "I don't care what you say. We're getting out of this. Together. Just like always."

"_Arthur_." Alfred's tone was a warning but Arthur ignored it.

Without another word, Arthur glanced around and noticed a wide alley. The setting sun's last rays was pouring into and he could see a dumpster and the road behind the other buildings. He started for it, pulling Alfred along. His eyes darted around, making sure there was nothing around to kill them.

As they entered the alleyway, Arthur spotted a fire escape that ran down the side of one of the buildings. A raised ladder was available to connect the metal stairway to the ground and Arthur steered Alfred towards it. "Quick! We can make do in an apartment for now!"

Alfred protested. "You shouldn't be in an enclosed space with me-"

"Shut up, Al," snapped Arthur, reaching up and pulling the ladder down the last few feet. It fell with a loud clatter and both men winced. "Okay, you go first."

"What? No, you shou-"

"Al, you're injured. If you slip and fall, I'll catch you so get your arse up there!" Not waiting for more protests, Arthur pushed Alfred into the ladder and began shoving at him, trying to lift him off the ground. Then the weight of his boyfriend disappeared as the other climbed as fast as he could. Arthur kept watch, clutching at his axe.

"Artie. Get up here!"

Glancing up, Arthur could see that Alfred was successfully on the first landing. Abandoning his post, Arthur began to climb, slipping a little on the rungs which had blood on them. He tried not to think about it. Just as he reached the top, movement from the end of the alley caught his attention and he watched as one of the faster zombies rushed towards him.

"Fuck!" Alfred said above him. "C'mon, Arthur!"

With Alfred's help, Arthur was pulled off the ladder just as the zombie hit it. Other, slower zombies appeared, too, ambling towards them with their constant groaning. The one beneath them snarled and reached towards them.

"Pull it up!" gasped Arthur. Alfred was quick to obey and they both watched as the confused zombie fell forward when its support was gone. It was on its feet in seconds, though, watching them as it reached for its food.

"Up top?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah." They made their way up, wincing at every rattle and clatter. At one point, they nearly fell over the railing when a trapped zombie rammed against a window. It was enough to have them running upwards. Finally, they reached the topmost apartment and found the window, luckily, had been left open. Alfred insisted on going first and Arthur let him; he was quick to follow. They shut it firmly and looked at each other, taking deep breaths.

But they couldn't rest for long and they both knew it. Without speaking, they both dropped their rucksacks and moved off in opposite directions. As Arthur blocked the window as much as possible, Alfred searched the place. He returned shortly afterwards, bringing tinned food, matches and bottles of water. Then he shut the room door and pushed a bookcase in front of it, followed by a chair. The only things they didn't move were the double bed and the wardrobe which were much too heavy and awkward to shift.

Finished with their tasks, Arthur and Alfred collapsed on the bed, catching their breath. A few moments of silence passed – within which they were sure they could hear groaning from below – before Arthur spoke up. "Let me bandage that wound."

"It's not going to do anything. What's the point?" answered Alfred with a shrug. "In fact, while we're on the subject, why the hell didja bring me along? I'm gonna turn into one of those things-"

"_Please_, Alfred," said Arthur, sitting up to look down at him with pained eyes. "I can't- Just..." He sighed. "You're still alive. I can't leave you alone knowing you'll be ripped apart."

Alfred bit his lip before sighing. "All right. But..." He sat up suddenly and went to his bag, opening it and rummaging around. When he turned back to a confused Arthur, he was holding a gun. Expertly, Alfred slid the ammo out, checked it over, and loaded it again. "You should take this."

"Wha-? Where did you-?"

"Snatched it from that blond with all the guns back in the last town."

"Why didn't you _use it_!"

Shrugging, Alfred walked over to the bed and stopped in front of Arthur. "I didn't want to draw them to us. Guns make a lot of noise, y'know. And then I was a bit preoccupied keeping them off me. Not that _that_ did a lot of good, huh?" He raised his arm. "Anyways, here." Holding the gun out to Arthur, he looked at him expectantly.

"'Here', what?" asked Arthur, frowning.

"I'm giving it to you." Alfred pressed the gun into one of Arthur's hands. "Take it. You'll need it. And you need to use it to kill me. Do it now, before I turn."

Arthur's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. "No! No, I can't!" He pulled the gun from Alfred's grasp and threw it across the room. The thud and clatter as it slid to a stop echoed. They paused, listening for dangers. After a moment, Arthur whispered, "I can't, Alfred. I won't."

"You _have_ to, Art." Alfred's eyes were pleading with Arthur, large and sad – usually he couldn't resist but it was surprisingly easy to do so now. "Please, Arthur. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm not _killing_ you, Alfred."

"I'm already as good as dead," Alfred growled.

"But you're not dead yet!" snapped Arthur. "I _won't_ be the one to kill you. I refuse. I won't- I can't-" Suddenly, he sobbed, catching both of them by surprise. Arthur hadn't been aware that his eyes had filled with tears but now they were falling. Not wanting Alfred to see him crying in his last moments, Arthur covered his face.

It took a few heartbeats before Alfred was pulling his wet hands away. Arthur found himself looking into Alfred's shining eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't want-" Alfred sighed, dropping to a crouch before him. "Look. You don't need to kill me now. We've got twenty-four hours."

"Maybe-"

"We have twenty-four hours," Alfred repeated, firmly. "And then I'll turn. Once I've turned, you need to get out of here. Get out of this town, go back to the last one. You'll be safe there."

"But I can't just-"

"You can and you will, Arthur. For me. Please."

"I..." Arthur stared at Alfred's abnormally serious face. How could he say no to one of his last requests? "All right. But when we find a cure, I'll come back and-!"

"No." Alfred reached up and gripped Arthur's arms tightly. "No, you can't. You won't. Because, when I turn, you need to kill me. Just like we had to kill... others."

That was something Arthur couldn't promise. "No. No, no, no! I- Please, Al, don't-!"

"Arthur! Please. I love you but I'll try to hurt you once I turn. So you need to kill me. You need to save yourself and live. For me. For- Just, _please_. Please. Tell me you'll do it."

He was crying again; he couldn't stop himself. Shaking his head, Arthur muttered protests and begging until, finally, he had his forehead pressed against Alfred's. "F-Fine. I'll... I'll do it."

Arms pulled him closer in a tight hug. "Thanks, babe. I love you."

"I-I love you, too," Arthur replied in a small voice, throwing his arms around Alfred.

They stayed like that for quite some time.

* * *

A few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set before they moved from their cuddling session. Alfred drew out the battery-powered lanterns and other lights so they could see what they were doing whilst Arthur found the tin opener and investigated the food. They had managed to secure themselves some beans, vegetable soup, tinned tomatoes, chicken curry and SpaghettiOs Sliced Franks.

After a brief moment of indecision, Arthur decided on opening the soup and the SpaghettiOs as they only had two camping cookers. They could easily split both of them in half, if Alfred wanted any of the soup, but that would come later. He rummaged in their bags and dug out the cookers, setting them up and pulling out collapsible pots they had picked up along the way. Once he had gotten them lit, he opened the tins and set everything up. When he had finished, he looked around to find Alfred watching him with a fond smile.

"What?" he asked, frowning at him.

"Nothing. Just... You're going to be fine." Alfred's lips twitched a little as he tried to keep up the smile.

"Shut up." Arthur yawned and stretched. "Once we've eaten, let me take care of that-"

"No, forget about it. I just wanna... be with you. Forget about it and everything else for a while, all right?" Alfred's serious face made Arthur nod in agreement. "Anyways, should you really be the one cooking?"

Arthur scowled at that. "I'm only heating it up! And I'm following the instructions, you git!"

Alfred's laugh – which could be loud and horrible – was music to Arthur's ears. His scowl turned to a smile and he shook his head at him. They lapsed into silence quickly, aware of what was coming. Alfred approached, rather gingerly, and settled himself beside Arthur. Quietly, he snaked his arms around Arthur's waist and Arthur leaned into his shoulder.

"It shouldn't be too long," Arthur murmured, sighing.

"Sure it isn't done by now?" teased Alfred.

"I just put it on!"

Again, Alfred chuckled. "Sorry," he said and pecked Arthur on the head.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur picked up the spoon and nudged the food around the pots. "What do you want? Soup or spaghetti. O's," he added as he remembered the last time he had merely called them pasta. Alfred had been up in arms that he hadn't specified and they'd ended up in an argument.

"What kinda soup?"

"Vegetable."

"Ew, nah. SpaghettiOs for me, please."

The rest of the cooking time passed in silence. When it was ready, Arthur fetched their collapsible bowls and dished the two lots up. Making sure the cookers were switched off, Arthur began to eat. The soup was unappetising and he was tempted to forego it but he knew that he needed energy.

Just as he was finishing off, Alfred's hand appeared, unannounced, and took his bowl. Shocked, he dropped the spoon and looked at Alfred, puzzled. "What?" he asked as he watched Alfred put their bowls out of the way.

"Nothing," Alfred replied, turning back to Arthur and gently cupping his face. Without warning, he leant forward and pressed his lips to Arthur's in a chaste kiss. Arthur kissed back, feeling more nervous than their first time. Could this be their last?

When they pulled back, Arthur could see the lust in Alfred's eyes. Wordlessly, the American stood and pulled Arthur up with him. His hands went to Arthur's hips while Arthur looped his arms around Alfred's neck. Alfred kissed him a little more urgently, his tongue licking at Arthur's lips until Arthur let him in. Slowly, their tongues moved against each other's, a lazy and affectionate kiss.

Then they pulled back and Alfred gently pushed Arthur down onto the bed, following him immediately. Knowing where this was going, Arthur grimaced. "Al, I don't think-"

"We haven't had sex in ages," Alfred interjected, frowning at his boyfriend. "And this'll be my last night. So, please – let me make love to you."

Arthur couldn't say no to that. He pulled Alfred down into another kiss, this one just as slow as the last. It didn't stay slow, however, and they were soon nibbling and biting at lips. They broke away for air and Alfred kissed at Arthur's jaw as the Brit desperately tried to remove Alfred's jacket and shirt. Hands ran down Arthur's chest and gave him the same treatment.

Their trousers were next, along with their boots and, in no time at all, they were both naked and panting, kissing each other along their bodies. "Beautiful," Alfred murmured into Arthur's ear at one point before he nibbled at the lobe. Arthur managed to do something between a moan and a chuckle.

Slowly, teasingly, Alfred began to kiss his way down Arthur's chest. He took a detour to one of his nipples to suck and bite at it. Arthur groaned at that, arching a little. Alfred laughed, gave it a final lick and went on his way. By the time he reached his navel, Arthur was already a mess. It really had been too long.

"A-Al," he panted. "Al, I- Damn. Hurry."

"Yeah, yeah. I need to find the lube. You'll need to hang on for me."

Glaring at Alfred's smirk, Arthur said, "Why the hell didn't you get it out before you started?"

Alfred's smirk grew wider. "Well, I hadn't exactly planned on this." And then he took Arthur's cock into his mouth and sucked, hard. Arthur cried out and bucked his hips a little. All too soon, however, Alfred was gone and Arthur looked for him in a daze. He spotted him at his bag, fishing around in a pocket. In no time at all, he was hurrying back, his erection clear to see. "No condoms, though," he said, frowning down at Arthur, suddenly hesitant.

"Does it _really_ matter at this point?"

"What if... _this_... is transferred by... y'know." Alfred waved his arms, making vague gestures which seemed rather comical.

Sighing, Arthur propped himself up by his elbows. "It's transferred in saliva, right? That's why people get it when they're bitten. Would you just stop worrying and fuck me already?!"

"Huh," Alfred said, nodding slowly. "Yeah, okay." He flipped open the top and squeezed a liberal amount of lube on his fingers. When he deemed the lube warm enough, he leaned over and Arthur instinctively spread his legs.

A finger circled Arthur's entrance and he held his breath, biting at his lip. Then, slowly, Alfred pushed it in. Arthur groaned as it went in. Alfred went through the same motions as normal, thrusting his finger in and out, curling it every so often until he deemed Arthur loose enough to insert another one and a third. Arthur merely lost himself in the sensations, gripping at the messy bedsheets and moaning wantonly. Soon, though, it wasn't enough and he began to writhe and move against Alfred, practically begging for more.

"Man," breathed Alfred as he removed his fingers. Arthur held back a whimper as he looked up at his lover. He was flushed, his eyes dark with lust behind his broken glasses. The stunned expression reminded Arthur of their first time, reminded him of their journey to get to this relationship and how many obstacles they'd faced. Then Alfred grinned and Arthur was aware of him lining up. "You look amazing," Alfred added just before he thrust in.

Gasping, Arthur arched off the bed, his hands scrabbling for purchase. "Al!" he managed to cry, breathless. Slowly, he relaxed, Alfred panting above him. When he was in full contact with the bed, he took a deep breath and nodded. Alfred wasted no time in pulling out and slamming back in. Arthur cried out and, annoyed at himself for being so noisy, he reached up and pulled Alfred into a deep kiss.

Their pace grew frenzied after that, fully aware of their time limit though neither wished to acknowledge it. They lost themselves in the noises of slapping flesh, the smell of sex, the sight of the other in the throes of passion and the feel of being with their loved one. It didn't take long and yet it did as they lost track of time and the world around them. Even the distant groans of the hungry undead didn't reach them. Suddenly, Alfred gave a cry and Arthur could feel his release inside of him. With a gasp, Arthur followed as Alfred slammed into him one more time and brushed against his prostate.

Alfred collapsed on top of Arthur, something he was used to. He waited a while before pushing Alfred onto his side so he could breathe. The American wasted no time in drawing Arthur closer, curling around him. Kisses were peppered across Arthur's face till he laughed and pushed Alfred's face away.

"Stop. We need to-"

"We need to cuddle, is what we need to do," said Alfred. Then, without warning, he leaned over and kissed Arthur's neck. A bite, a suck, a lick later, and he moved back again. "There. Had to leave you a present."

"_Al_!" growled Arthur, glaring at him. He didn't appreciate the reminder.

Grimacing, Alfred drew him closer. "Sorry, Art. Sorry for everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. Every stupid fight or insult or whatever I did to make you feel bad. I love you and I shouldn't 'ave done that. And I'm real sorry about this." He looked up into Arthur's gaze, his eyes shining with his tears.

"Idiot," Arthur sighed. He looped his arms around him. "Stop. We're not saying goodbye just yet. We've got a few hours. Let's sleep and when morning comes..." He wasn't sure what he was going to do when morning came. There was no way he would be ready to leave Alfred.

And he certainly wouldn't be ready to shoot him, no matter what state his boyfriend was in.

"Okay," agreed Alfred. "We'll talk then. But I love you."

"Love you, too, silly."

* * *

They had fallen asleep with their arms around each other and that was how Arthur found himself when he woke a few hours later. Groaning, he rolled over and away from Alfred, stretching out the kinks from the awkward position. They usually slept with Arthur's back to Alfred but he couldn't bear to turn away from him that night. Standing, he moved over to the window, ignoring the stickiness on his stomach and between his legs. From the slight gap between the piled furniture and the edge of it, Arthur could see that the sun had barely risen and the zombies had disappeared.

Returning to his bag, he searched for a knife. Then he turned to the curtains and cut a swathe from it. Using the bottled water, he soaked it and used it as a wet cloth to clean himself. Finally, he pulled on his spare clothes: a pair of combat trousers, a dark sweater and a pair of boots. He decided that this was as ready as he was going to be to face the day.

As he repacked his bag, he heard shuffling from the bed. "Oh, you're up," he said, not turning around. He wasn't sure he could face him. "I'm just tidying up a bit. I'll come back to-" There was a thud and Arthur jolted to his feet, alarmed. Turning, he saw Alfred in a pile on the floor. Chuckling, he took a step forward. "Did you fall out of-?"

And then Alfred began to raise himself to his feet. It was slow and awkward, as if he didn't know what to do with his limbs. His feet slid across the carpet, back and forth, till he got them under him. Then, slowly, he began to unfold himself.

Arthur had only ever seen certain people get up from a fall in that manner.

"No. No, it can't- It's not been twenty-four hours," he whispered, transfixed as he watched the thing that used to be his boyfriend stand straight for a moment. Its unseeing eyes were dull behind the dirty and cracked lenses. They bored into Arthur for a moment before it slumped.

It moaned. It raised its arms. It began to shuffle forwards, still unused to its limbs.

Backing away, Arthur shook his head. "No. Please. Al, it's me." Before he could say anything else, he tripped over his bag and landed, hard, sprawled over their belongings. A panicked and pained sob escaped him as Alfred kept coming. He scrambled to his feet and tried again. "Al, this is _not_ funny. Stop it. _Please_."

Alfred merely groaned, getting closer. Arthur backed up more and the thing – _Alfred_ – reached his bag. It tripped and fell, hard enough to snap a wrist. Darting away, Arthur tried to keep himself from crying, biting his lip hard to keep in sobs.

Suddenly, he stood on something hard. He yelped and jumped away, glancing down. It was Alfred's gun. He stared at it, remembering what Alfred had said. Looking over at Alfred, he watched him – _it_ – struggling to get up, its arms and legs flailing.

What was he supposed to do? If he left Alfred behind and simply left, someone else could kill him. Or he could hurt someone and Arthur knew he wouldn't want that. And what if there was a cure? Arthur didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he killed Alfred and he could be saved in the future. In fact, could he live without Alfred at all?

Then again, did people know that the virus was progressing? That it was getting faster? Were there people out there trying to spend a final few hours with their loved ones and getting brutally torn apart? Should he try to warn them?

During his time of indecision, Alfred had gotten to his feet and was coming for him again. Arthur stared at him, pleading with his eyes. Alfred showed no recognition and Arthur began to slowly realise that he was really gone. He could remember Alfred's eyes lighting up when he spotted him across a room, the way he bounded over to him and pestered him, the way he hugged him and enveloped him in love, the way he kissed him.

The zombie moaned, shuffling closer. Arthur noticed it was getting faster. Were all the zombies getting quicker? Was that how they had been ambushed? Did this spell the end for all of them?

Arthur didn't think he could take much more of this. The losses both he and Alfred had suffered were devastating enough but Alfred had been the one to pull him through it, just as he had helped Alfred, too. He watched the zombie getting closer and he knew that he had to make a decision.

Jerkily, he crouched and scooped up the pistol. Then he straightened, facing his lover. The creature had stopped moving at the sudden movement. When nothing more happened, though, it moaned again and wobbled forwards, its wrist limp as it reached for Arthur.

"I'm so sorry, Al," Arthur breathed.

Then he cocked the gun, raised his arm, pulled the trigger and-

* * *

_**Does saying "I'm sorry" make up for this? But, yeah, it's deliberately ended like that. **_

_**I actually looked up SpaghettiOs, by the way. Well, I mean, I looked up the American equivalent of spaghetti hoops - stupidly, because I've heard of SpaghettiOs from films and TV. Never knew there were variants, though. Not sure if America has tinned chicken curry but the people living in that flat totally have it. **_

_**I decided to kind of take a few different zombie attributes and put them all in the one universe. Like, you get the slow, shuffling ones. And you get the fast ones like 28 Days Later. ... Actually, that's it.**_

_**I would like to say that the next one-shot is happier - but I can't. ^^" Meatloaf's songs are all sex or really depressed stuff.**_


	11. Never Really Sleep Anymore

_**This is for the song It Just Won't Quit.**_

_**Warning: character death.**_

* * *

Alfred rubbed at his eyes, taking great care not to knock his glasses off. He needed them to see, after all, and he was driving. When that didn't work, though, he blinked rapidly, watching the lights flickering as he passed them by. It was already rather late and he wondered if he should take the time to go find somewhere to eat before he arrived... _there_.

Sighing, he shook his head. He wasn't a coward: even if returning there was painful, he would go through with it. Besides, maybe tonight he could fall asleep instantly, such a deep sleep that there would be no dreams or memories. A yawn escaped him and he remembered that he hadn't glanced into the rearview mirror in a while. He groaned; he was barely concentrating on the road.

With a considerable amount of effort, he raised his eyes and looked into the mirror, watching for anything on the road behind him. Instead, he found himself staring into bright green eyes and messy blond hair. His breath caught in his throat as the man smiled sweetly at him. No. He couldn't be there. Alfred didn't see him outside of his bedroom, nowadays.

"Arthur?" he breathed. His eyes were already beginning to water.

"Hello, Alfred," said the man, smile widening. "Did you have a good day, love?"

"I-"

He was cut off by a loud honking from in front of him. Wrenching his gaze from the mirror, he looked out of the windscreen to find a truck heading straight for him. Gasping, he turned the steering wheel so sharply that the wheels of his vehicle had difficulty gaining traction. It shifted out of the way of the oncoming truck before spinning and stalling. Finally, the car stopped, blocking the entirety of the lane Alfred had been in, several cars stopping at the blockage.

Inside, Alfred gripped the steering wheel, his heart racing, eyes wide. Slowly, he glanced into the mirror and merely saw the cars passing by in the opposite direction, the drivers peering at him. Arthur had disappeared.

Which probably meant that he had hallucinated again.

Or...

The alternative was much more horrible and he didn't know which he'd rather it be. He sighed and pushed his glasses onto his forehead to rub at his face and eyes. If only he could get more sleep, he'd be able to know which it was. Though, if they _were_ hallucinations, did he really want them to stop?

* * *

It was hours before he managed to trudge into his bedroom. After he had managed to bring himself to move, he had righted the car and went on his way. Someone must have taken down his number and called the cops, though, for he reached the house at the same time as a car did. They asked him what had happened and he told them everything except for the man he had seen in his back seat. Luckily, they let him off with a warning and told him to get some sleep.

They probably saw how exhausted he was.

Once they had left, he dragged himself up to the bedroom, passing by the locked study door and the overgrown potted plant in the hall. It looked like it was dying, too, and Alfred forced back a sob. He had no idea how to take care of a plant properly and he'd just been pouring water over it whenever he remembered. When had he last done so? Did it matter anymore?

Reaching the bed, he let himself fall, face first, and sprawled out over the double bed. Alfred remembered buying it, seeing as they had needed a bigger one. A single wasn't going to cut it from now on, they had agreed.

Except 'from now on' turned into just three months.

It took him a lot longer than it should have to realise that the blanket beneath him was wet. Pushing himself up on one arm, Alfred used the other to wipe at his eyes. He had thought he'd run out of tears by this point. Rolling himself over, he sprawled on _his_ side of the bed and scrubbed at his eyes. God, what he would do to have him back in his life.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Alfred let out a sigh. His life was a mess now. And the lack of sleep was getting to him more and more. But the dreams – the nightmares – kept him up for most of the night. Someone had suggested sleeping pills a few days ago: Alfred found himself refusing. After all, what would he do when the dreams stopped?

"Alfred! What on Earth are you doing? Get up and help me, will you?"

Dropping his arm, Alfred's eyes flew open. Above him, green leaves danced in the slight breeze. Beyond them, he could see the clear blue sky, a solitary white cloud lazily travelling across the blank expanse. He sat up, eyes wide. In front of him was a stunning view of the town spread out below him, interspersed with distant trees. But what had his heart racing and a grin forming was the sight of Arthur hauling a cooler up the crest of the hill.

Laughing, Alfred leapt to his feet and hurried over. "Sorry, honey. The climb was more exhausting than I thought." He took the box and effortlessly carried it over to the patchwork blanket. Once he had deposited it there, he turned to survey Arthur.

His blond hair had been dishevelled by the breeze. Sweat was running down his face and he wiped at it with a pale arm. The t-shirt he was wearing was a pale green and baggy which was probably intended to help keep the heat at bay. A baggy pair of cargo shorts hung from his hips, showing off his legs. Muddied hiking boots accompanied the image; some of the dirt had even splashed onto his legs.

Suddenly, his striking green eyes met Alfred's and his heart almost stopped. "What?" Arthur demanded.

"Nothing. Something," said Alfred. "You look amazing."

"I'm a mess, Al: shut up."

"No, no, really!" Alfred blushed and grinned down at his own hiking boots. "I was just thinking we'll both need a shower when we get home..."

"Honestly," sighed Arthur. He chuckled. "Everything comes back to sex with you."

"That's not true!"

"Ah, yes. I forgot about food and your games," Arthur conceded, making his way over.

"Unfair!" Alfred protested with a pout.

"Sorry, dear. You brought that on yourself."

Arthur slowly and carefully lowered himself onto his homemade blanket. As soon as he was settled, he began to set out the food. Alfred watched him for a moment, marvelling in having Arthur _with him_, before he dropped down beside his boyfriend. He pecked Arthur on the cheek and leaned over him to pull out the bottles of water they'd brought. After offering one to Arthur, he opened his and gulped some down. Finishing, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and found Arthur watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Arthur, quickly. His cheeks were red, though, and Alfred grinned at how amazing he looked.

_Now or never_, he thought.

"Hey, Artie?" he said, gaining Arthur's attention in the middle of a rant about a book. Arthur glanced at him and cocked his head, the cream from his éclair caught at the corner of his mouth. Alfred chuckled and wiped it off with a finger. He offered it to Arthur who rolled his eyes and darted out his tongue to lick it off.

"What is it?" Arthur asked once he had swallowed.

"I wanna ask you a question."

"Oh?" Setting down the rest of the éclair, he turned to face Alfred. His eyes widened as he gazed down at Alfred's hands within which rested an opened box. The ring glinted in the sunlight.

"Arthur. I love you so, _so_ much so... will ya marry me?"

Alfred's heart was beating rapidly again. This was the entire reason he had dragged Arthur up here, even going so far as forcing Arthur into those shorts when he said he didn't have a pair and didn't want to climb a hill in trousers and the heat of summer. Would he say yes? Would he tell him it was too soon? It had only been a year and a month since they started dating. Not that Alfred was counting.

Slowly, a fond smile spread its way across Arthur's face. Alfred could see the tears in his eyes, making them look like tranquil pools. He nodded vigorously and held out his hand. Just as Alfred reached out to take it, grinning, Arthur's spoken answer stopped him short.

"No. I'm not going to marry you, Al. I'm going to die. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"W-What?" breathed Alfred, though he had already known. How could he forget those terrible words spoken to him through his cell phone? _I'm afraid there's been an accident..._

"You heard me," said Arthur, who was still smiling. Behind his fiancé, Alfred watched the sky rip in two, flames flickering out of the darkness. Rough laughter began to echo around his ears: he recognised it from the drunk driver he had watched being taking away in handcuffs. Gigantic hands slowly began to push their way out of the gap, reaching long, spidery fingers towards Arthur.

Shouting out, Alfred tried to reach for Arthur but the Englishman was miles away. Stumbling to his feet, he began to run, tripping and panting. He had to reach him: he couldn't bear it.

However, he had barely begun moving before the hands snatched Arthur away. All at once, Alfred felt an intense pain in his chest and he dropped to the ground, eyes wide as he watched Arthur struggling, kicking wildly as he thrashed in the deadly grip. Then he seemed to be pulled past a barrier and the sky began to close. Alfred reached out a hand and tried to crawl after them. Instead, the ground seemed to fall away from him and he began rolling back down the hill.

* * *

Alfred sat up with a yell, eyes wide. His gaze darted around until he realised that he was still in the bedroom and it had been months since that day on the hilltop. Shakily, he raised a hand and covered his eyes – his glasses had been knocked off in his sleep – as he tried to keep in a sob. How many times had he dreamt of that? How many times had he dreamt that Arthur was alive and well only to have him snatched away? How many times had he awoken to remember that Arthur had died in a car accident almost a month ago?

Or was it two?

He'd completely lost track of time by now. Every time he lay down to sleep, he would be woken by his nightmares. It would then be impossible for him to return to sleep, tossing and turning as he dreaded what else his mind could conjure up.

But that wasn't the worst thing in his life at the moment.

Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes; he seemed to be able to stop crying quicker. Once he had found his glasses, he grabbed them and placed them on the bedside table. Then he peeled off his shirt and pants before wandering into the bathroom. Peering into the mirror, he could see his bloodshot eyes. If this sleeplessness went on any longer, he'd look like a demon. After he had splashed his face with water to clean off the tears, he returned to the room, still dripping. There he found what made the loss of Arthur so much worse.

"What are you doing up, love?" asked a vision of the man, smiling kindly at him.

He wasn't sure what it was. The figure of Arthur was swathed in a white robe and Alfred had, at first, though he was an angel. Then he had noticed the lack of wings or feet and that the bottom of the robe simply faded out of existence. That was when he considered that Arthur was a ghost, unable to move on because he was unwilling to leave him. He had spent a fair amount of time in the middle of the night trying to convince Arthur to leave but the apparition had insisted on staying by his side.

When he realised that he hadn't had much sleep since Arthur's death, he was horrified to think that, perhaps, he was hallucinating instead. Arthur never gave him a straight answer, though, which just frustrated Alfred.

"Go away," Alfred croaked, averting his gaze and hoping that Arthur would leave.

"Oh! Have you got a sore throat? I'll go get you some water," Arthur replied, ignoring what Alfred had said. The thing passed Alfred on his way out of the room and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. Then he was tapped on the shoulder and he steeled himself to turn and face Arthur. "Here," said his dead fiancé, still smiling.

Taking the glass offered to him, Alfred gulped some down before he attempted to speak again. "You can't be here."

"Of course I can."

"No, I mean, you _shouldn't_ be here. I need you to go."

Arthur's smile never wavered but he tilted his head in confusion. "Why?" His voice betrayed that he was hurt.

"I didn't mean it like that," sighed Alfred. "I need some sleep."

"Do you want me to sing to you?"

"Please just-" A broken and muffled sob stopped Alfred from continuing. Taking a deep breath, he said, "You're dead." That was something he had had to remind himself for weeks now.

"That doesn't mean I can't sing to you."

"It means you _shouldn't_."

"But I want to," Arthur insisted, reaching out to Alfred. He jerked away, hoping it would discourage Arthur.

"That- I can't sleep with-"

"My song will put you to sleep. I learnt a new one, you know."

Alfred froze. Each night, Arthur would eventually sing to him. He had always had a beautiful voice but now it seemed almost ethereal. Every song was different and each made Alfred react differently: one would make his heart warm with affection; another had him crying for the rest of the night whether Arthur remained to comfort him or not; yet another had him pacing and angry, wanting to kill the drunk driver who had stolen Arthur from him. Whenever Arthur mentioned singing in the night, he knew he should refuse and get some sleep – but he couldn't bring himself to do that. He _needed_ to hear what Arthur had to sing. And there was the extra bonus of having Arthur there to support him, at least for a while.

He was still hopelessly in love with him, after all.

"All right," Alfred conceded. He sat down on the bed and Arthur stood (or floated) before him, still smiling down at him with that pretty, kind smile. Taking a breath Alfred was sure Arthur didn't need, the dead man began to sing.

* * *

The day dawned and the birds began to sing. Alfred rubbed at his eyes in frustration and, when he opened them, Arthur was nowhere to be found. He groaned and staggered to the bathroom to shower – hopefully it would wake him up a little. Instead, he found that he could barely bring himself to move. Maybe he should take the day off work...

No. He had taken enough days off lately. Besides, if he stayed in the house, he would see Arthur again. He couldn't bear it, not today.

Coffee was a godsend and he drank a whole pot before having to relieve himself. Every movement on his part was slow and he trudged up the stairs. The mirror showed how ashen he was now and his red eyes. Returning downstairs, he glanced at Arthur's precious grandfather clock and noticed he had to leave. Gathering his things, he made his way to the car and set off.

Halfway there, he began to regret leaving the house. His eyes hurt and he was yawning continuously. Several times, he had found himself swerving: thankfully, this time, he stayed on his side of the road.

At this time, the roads were quiet and he took advantage of this to allow himself to rub at his eyes with a free hand. He yawned and, not thinking quite so clearly, he took his other hand from the wheel to rub at his face as well. Once he felt as though he had pushed past his tiredness for a moment, he adjusted his glasses, dropped his hands and blinked rapidly at the sight before him.

There was a huge truck coming straight for him, seemingly in slow motion.

_That can't be right_, he thought. _He should be on the other side._

Glancing to his left, he found that, no, _he_ was the one on the wrong side of the road. "Oh," he said as he realised that he had no time to move out of the way. His tiredness had got the best of him and he was about to crash, he realised.

Instinctively, he glanced into his rearview mirror. Alfred smiled at what he saw there – and Arthur smiled back, just before the impact.

* * *

_**I couldn't decide whether I wanted Arthur to be a ghost or a hallucination so I decided to be vague - and it got creepy instead.  
**_

_**Also, the thing about his nightmare is that it ended badly in this one but I like to think that most of them were just him dreaming of Arthur being alive and with him. I couldn't remember where I'd gotten the idea for it but it suddenly came to me a few minutes ago: it's from a doujinishi where America calls Lithuania for advice for something and he explains that the worst dreams are when you're happy and then you have it snatched away from you when you wake up. (He was talking about dreaming about being with Poland and then waking up in Russia's house.) I can't remember the name of it or anything else about it so I can't send you off to read it. =/**_


End file.
